Death and Destruction
by Enthusiastic Fish
Summary: Written for the NFA Angst Challenge. WARNING: Major death fic. How does one deal with the loss of everything important in life? Is it possible to survive, to be happy? This is about loss and healing. Already complete. Now complete.
1. Chapter 1

**A/N:** Written for the NFA Angst Challenge. **WARNING: Major death fic.** This is a story about loss and healing. ...and the losses are great.

**A/N 2:** I wrote this around the beginning of the season 6 premiere and so the relationships aren't canon anymore. It's set somewhere in season 5.

**Disclaimer:** I do not own NCIS. I think if the characters could actually comment, they'd be relieved that I don't. I wouldn't mind making money, but I'm not. I'm just doing it because I enjoy it.

* * *

**Death and Destruction**  
by Enthusiastic Fish

**Chapter 1**

Ambulances. Dust. Sirens. Dust everywhere. People screaming. Dust, hiding the true extent of the destruction. It was like being in the middle of a war zone...not the capital city of the most powerful country in the world. Just like the World Trade Center, the war had been brought home...only why here? Why now?

Why?

"McGee?"

He had been so close to stepping inside.

"Tim? Can you hear me?"

Who _had_ been inside?

"Is he deaf?"

What time was it? He had left his apartment early...but he wasn't sure how early it had been when he arrived. There had been traffic to contend with, a big pileup.

"Tim, look at me."

What was the time? Ten minutes could mean the difference between a building full of people and one nearly empty.

"Tim!"

Nearly. It was _never_ completely empty. Someone was in there. Someone _had_ to be...it was just a matter of how many someones.

A hand passed in front of his face, but it couldn't block out the view he had, the flames, the wreckage...the evidence of mass casualties. It hadn't been early enough.

"He had a pretty bad knock on the head. He's lucky he didn't have worse. There are a couple of bruised ribs, plenty of lacerations. His sunglasses probably kept his eyes from being damaged by the flying glass."

Lucky. A sudden breeze momentarily cleared the view he had. He looked at the remnants. How many people had died? Sound cut in and out, one moment nearly inaudible, the next overwhelmingly loud.

"His sunglasses aren't doing him much good now. Tim?"

Who would have been in already? Oh, no...Abby... He stood up, not seeing anything except the piles of rubble, the fire still being fought, the struts which were still standing...holding nothing. Abby...she always came in early...to beat the sun. And Gibbs...Gibbs was always there. What if there had been a lengthy autopsy? Ducky...Jimmy... He had to get them out. He had to get them out before it was too late.

"Tim! Stop! Wait!"

He began to run toward the building...toward what _used_ to be a building, not hearing anything, not feeling anything beyond his pounding heart. He had to save them. He had to. He had to erase the movie continually playing in front of his eyes of the building exploding.

"Tim!"

Hands closed around his arms, around his chest. Finally, he broke his silence.

"No, let me go! I have to help them!"

"No, you don't. That's what the emergency crews are doing. You just need to let them get on with their work."

He pulled against the restraining arms.

"We don't know who's in there! We have to get them out! ...before it's too late!"

"Tim..." Whoever was speaking sounded like they were almost crying. "...it may already _be_ too late."

He stopped trying to fight and stood, staring at the ruin, the destruction. A grief running as deep as the ocean began to churn inside him as he tried to breathe.

"We found someone!"

The cry was like a jolt of lightning through his veins and he ran toward the voice, ignoring the people calling after him again. A mass of firefighters had converged around the area that had been the main entrance. They were shifting debris in an eager but organized fashion...then, they stopped. He reached the group and looked down at the...the corpse. It could not be called a person any longer. Whatever had previously animated the body was long gone...and that was a tender mercy.

Tim took a long slow breath as he stared down at the body, the face torn apart by the blast, blood everywhere, legs twisted at unnatural angles, the feminine hands crushed by the collapse of the ceiling. There was a gaping hole through the left shoulder, marking the place where a large piece of shrapnel had torn through.

The comments were fast, furious...and filled with the kind of callous concern expressed by people who have to see this kind of thing every day.

"Man...it's a jigsaw puzzle."

"Who is it?"

"She had to have been near the center of the blast."

"There's no way she could have survived...what a mess."

"No one will be able to tell without..."

Tim listened to all the words being said. They washed over him adding to the unreality of the situation. One of the firefighters looked up at him, realized who he was and tried to apologize for their comments. Tim shook his head and stared, the tears blinding him.

"I know who she is."


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter 2**

_Two hours earlier..._

"Come on!" Tim shouted. "This is ridiculous. So much for being early...or even on time." He looked at the sea of brake lights ahead of him and knew that this was going to be, in the immortal words of Judith Viorst, a "terrible, horrible, no good, very bad day." His phone rang. He looked at the display. If it was Tony or Gibbs, he wasn't going to answer. It would not make this morning any better. It wasn't either one; so he answered. "Hey, Ziva. I hope you're not on the same road I am."

"_Why is that?"_ she asked, amusement coloring her tone.

"Because I am currently in the middle of a traffic jam. If you want to get to work on time, you'll avoid it."

Ziva was less than sympathetic, but she took his advice and promised to take a different road...and to tell Gibbs that Tim would make it...eventually. Tim just didn't feel like confronting Gibbs at this point in a day that was steadily going downhill. Gibbs would stare at him all day, punish him with stupid things like not getting to sit in his own chair, having to work with Tony, stuff like that. Tony would allow himself to take teasing to a whole new level of annoyance. Ziva would laugh.

"I should just call in sick. I'm definitely not in a good mood now."

Fifteen minutes later, the cars started to move...but not very far and Tim sighed loudly and covered his face.

"I am going to be in such big trouble."

Another twenty minutes passed. Tim's phone rang...and Tony's name came up. "Nope, not talking to you, Tony," he said to his phone. "I am _not_ in the mood for ribbing. I'll be getting enough of it later on."

Another fifteen minutes and the cars finally began to move...without stopping. The progress was slow, but steady. That was better than nothing and Tim felt some of his tension ease. He'd make it...a little later than planned, but since he'd left early, he should be right on time.

When he reached the Navy Yard, he was getting on edge again. It had taken too long to get there. Gibbs was surely already there...and Tony...and Ziva. He would definitely be getting the patented Gibbs stare and he'd probably get a couple of head slaps as well. How much worse could this day possibly get?

"Hey, McGee!"

He had just turned onto Sicard and rolled down his window. The voice took him by surprise and he put on his brakes. He leaned out and saw Lara Miller walking down the sidewalk. She waved.

"You're going to be late, McGee! Agent Gibbs is going to–"

"Don't remind me!" Tim shouted back.

"Well, don't bother trying to park on the street. All full up. You'll have to make do with the parking lot...and take the first spot you find, no matter where it is."

Tim rolled his eyes and smiled. "This is turning out to be a terrible day."

"It's not even eight o'clock yet, McGee," Lara said, smiling. "How bad could it be?"

"Don't ask."

"You want to tell me about it after work? Grab something to eat?"

Tim grinned. "Are you asking me out, Lara?"

She shrugged one shoulder. "Maybe...depends on whether or not you're accepting."

"Sure!"

"Great. If Gibbs leaves you alive, I'll see you tonight."

"All right." Tim leaned back in and began to drive forward.

"McGee!"

"What?"

"The parking lot! You missed the turnoff!"

Tim shook his head and blushed a little. "See what I mean?"

"Just park your car. The day will end well, no matter how bad it gets."

"You have a lot of confidence in your charm."

Lara started to walk again, this time swinging her hips seductively. Then, she shouted back over her shoulder, "That's because I've seen it work!" She winked at him and continued on her way.

Tim put his car into reverse and backed up until the entrance to the parking lot loomed ahead of him. Then, he turned in, searching for an elusive parking space. He finally found one near the cannons in the park. He took a deep breath and looked toward the building. Lara was already inside, the door closing after her. Would he survive the day? He hoped so. Dinner sounded great. One more deep breath and Tim got out of the car. He thought about running, but what was the point, really? He would be in trouble, regardless.

_I might as well take my time._

He was at the sidewalk when he felt it. He didn't hear. He didn't see. He _felt _the rumble. It was like an earthquake and time slowed down. As if in slow motion, he watched the building begin to explode outward, the rumble turning into a roar. The windows rippled and exploded into a million shards of glass. Then, it all hit him at once: the shock wave throwing him backward, the glass cutting his face, his hands, his clothes...pieces of the building smashing into him as he flew back. He hit the ground hard...and had just enough time to notice that it was asphalt he hit, not concrete, before he blacked out...

...Like a cold engine, the world slowly restarted, time revving up toward normal flow. There was screaming. Smoke...fire...chaos. Utter chaos. Around him and inside him. What in the world had happened? Tim tried to move and felt a stabbing pain and a heavy weight. He groaned. There was something on top of him. A lot of somethings. Tim pushed at them and felt them fall away. As he sat up, he tried to ignore the pain. He felt like he'd been cut to ribbons, but as he slowly found his feet, his attention was all on the destruction in front of him.

NCIS...it was gone. The building was in ruins. The center of the building was completely gutted out...the sides were still standing...slightly. As he stared, there was a secondary explosion and the west side of the building disappeared in a cloud of dust and debris. A blast of heat washed over Tim as he watched in a daze. The remnants of the east side of the building looked highly unstable. The trees were gone. There had been trees in front of the building. They were gone. Where were the trees? The cars that were usually there...what had happened to them?

He heard shouts behind him, to the side. He couldn't move. He couldn't shift his gaze, not even when the east side crumbled. He didn't even flinch. Everything was gone. Everything...

Tim felt like he could never move again. How many people were inside?

_Why aren't I?_

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

_Present..._

"How in the world can you tell who she is? She's got no face!"

One of the other firemen smacked his colleague on the arm at the expression on Tim's face. Tim closed his eyes, trying to block out the remains of a friend...she hadn't been a close friend, but he had known her, had talked to her. They had gone out for drinks a couple of times after work.

They'd had plans.

"It's Lara...Lara Miller...on Lovitz' team," he whispered. "She's just across the divider...we talked sometimes. She was...walking in when I got here. I...I went to...park my car and...she went inside. She was...she was wearing...she...was wearing...that...shirt."

The same hands that had been holding him back before, now were holding him up.

"Tim, come on. Come back to the ambulance. We need to get you checked out at a hospital."

Tim started to cry, covering his eyes with a bleeding hand...not that it mattered. The image of Lara's body was indelibly imprinted in his head.

"She was alive...she was alive. Now, she's dead. Who else is inside?"

"Come on, Tim. They'll find out. You can't do anything right now. Just come with me."

Tim finally acquiesced to be led away. He couldn't look at anything other than the building, however. He wasn't really listening to whomever was leading him. All he could see was NCIS Headquarters...exploding...Lara, going inside. Lara...dead. He didn't notice when his knees buckled, when he fell to the ground, when whoever was with him began calling for help. Over and over, he replayed what had happened in his mind.

As he fell rapidly toward unconsciousness, he asked one question: "Why did this happen?"

He didn't hear the answer.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

"Sir? Sir!"

"His name is Tim."

"Tim, can you hear me?"

A light flashed in his eyes. The right eye, then the left.

"Pupils are slightly dilated."

There was no dust...no dust in the air. It was much quieter, too.

"Is he on any medication?"

"Not that I know of."

"Any allergies?"

"I...I don't know."

"Tim? Squeeze my hand."

The hand was warm...but covered in a glove. His own hands were freezing.

"Tim, you don't have to speak. If you can hear me, squeeze my hand."

It took a lot of effort, but Tim decided that was an okay thing to do. He squeezed the gloved hand.

"Good. Okay, Tim. We're going to do an ultrasound to check for internal bleeding. You're going to be just fine."

"He's hypotensive and tachy."

"We hardly need the ultrasound."

"Let's use it anyway."

There was a feeling of cold on his abdomen and he flinched away.

"There's some guarding."

"He from the explosion?"

"Yeah."

"Inside?"

"No. Just outside."

"He's lucky."

He hated that word. He wasn't lucky.

"Okay, we've got some bleeding here, upper right quadrant. Let's get him up to the OR."

"Is he going to be all right?"

"He should be fine. The bleeding is fairly minor, but we want to get it under control."

"Why isn't he awake?"

"He is...sort of."

"Sort of. That's medical terminology, is it?"

"Close enough. Sir, the surgery won't take long. You can wait and check on him later."

"He's going to be all right, though."

"Yes."

"Then, I'll be back."

"Wait! You're just leaving?"

"He's not the only one who was involved."

Not the only one. Tim tried to sit up, but all he succeeded in doing was hurting himself.

"Tim, calm down!"

He subsided, but that was only because it hurt too much to try to leave again. His eyes opened.

"I have to go," he said, weakly.

"We're taking you to the OR, Tim. You have some internal bleeding."

"No...I have to go...back...I have...to..."

"Where is he?"

"He left."

"He _left_?"

"Yeah."

"Okay. Fine. Tim, you're going to be fine. The surgery is routine. Just..."

"No...please...I have to help."

"You can...later. Not now. Let's get him to the OR...Now?"

The ceiling flashed by above his head, making him dizzy.

"Cold."

"I know, Tim. It's all right. Here we go."

Tim faded to unconsciousness once more, but he tried to hold onto the gloved hand. "They died," he whispered. "I think they died. Why didn't I save them?"


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter 3**

Tim opened his eyes. The pain was less. It was very quiet. So quiet. He wasn't sure what he'd been expecting to hear. He blinked once...and then twice. Then, there was someone above him, a stranger.

"Tim, how are you feeling?"

"Confused."

"Do you know where you are?"

Tim flicked his eyes around. "I must be in a hospital. What happened?"

"Don't you remember?"

Tim struggled to reconnect the synapses in his brain, and suddenly, an image welled up in his mind of a smoking hole where NCIS Headquarters should have been.

"NCIS...it's gone! It...I was on the sidewalk and...it exploded." Tim started trying to sit up again. It wasn't quite as difficult as the last time, but it was hard enough that he was easily pushed back down by the nurse.

"Tim, calm down. You need to rest."

"No, please."

"Is there someone we can call for you?"

Again, the image of the destruction he had so recently seen took over his vision. "No..." he whispered hopelessly. "No...there's no one." He tried to get up again. He had to know.

"Tim, you need to stay here. You're still in recovery."

Tim tried to protest, tried to leave, but he didn't have the energy to fight with the nurse, be it verbally or physically. So he lay back and fell asleep again.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

He woke up again, later... alone. The realization that no one was there nearly made him cry. Surely, he wouldn't be alone if anyone had survived. Surely, _someone_ would have been there for him. If he was alone...they must all be dead. His coworkers...his friends...they were dead. That thought made him feel sick. He thought that he might actually throw up. Tim knew that he couldn't stay here in this bed, warm and safe, while the people he cared about were buried in rubble...torn to pieces by shrapnel...like Lara.

Tim swallowed and took a deep breath. His eyes closed, but that only served to sharpen the image of Lara's body, broken, damaged beyond recognition. Another deep breath devolved into a sharp gasp, not of physical pain but of mental agony.

"Tim, are you all right?"

"No, I'm leaving," Tim said firmly. He pushed himself up, relieved to note that he could do so with only a modicum of discomfort. Before the nurse, with her kind, understanding expression, could protest, he added, "There's no point in trying to stop me. I'll pull this IV out by myself if I have to. I'm leaving. I can't stay. I have things to do."

"You really need to rest, Tim."

"No. I don't," Tim said, clenching his teeth. She shouldn't look so nice, so compassionate. "What I need is to leave. Are you going to help me or do I have to do it myself?"

"You should talk to someone, Tim. There are people who–"

"What?" Tim asked, as the nurse gently removed the IV and the monitors. "Who will tell me that everything will be all right? That it's okay? That the death and destruction of everyone I know isn't important?" Tim laughed humorlessly. "Where are my clothes?"

"They're in pretty bad shape, Tim."

"I don't care. I can't wear a hospital gown."

The nurse seemed to realize that she wouldn't be able to keep him here. "I'm signing you out AMA."

"Fine. Just give me my clothes."

She nodded and brought them to him. Tim took them out and agreed that they had seen better days. His shirt was bloody and full of holes. His pants weren't much better. Still, they were all he had...and he shouldn't complain about his pants. He was still alive. Somehow, that didn't seem like a good thing.

Tim got dressed in his bloody clothes. The last thing he pulled out of his bag of personal items were the remains of his sunglasses. They had been touted as shatterproof...and they hadn't shattered, but they were cracked and scratched beyond repair. They were expensive, top of the line. Ruined. Destroyed. Worthless. He stared at them, feeling the twisting in his chest. He didn't hear the nurse talking to him, asking him to sign the form that would discharge him from the hospital against medical advice. He couldn't look away from his glasses.

"Tim? Tim?"

Tim finally looked up at her.

"Are you sure you want to leave? You need to talk to someone."

Tim shook his head, took the form and signed it. "No. I don't. I just need to go. I'm not going to sue you. I promise." He stood up, winced, blinked away the dark spots and walked away. He didn't see the concerned look the nurse gave him. He didn't see the surprised looks from the people around. ...what he saw was bad enough.

He saw someone else he knew die.

Tim was walking by a trauma room and happened to look in. The person lying on the table was familiar...

"Michelle!" he shouted and stood transfixed as doctors and nurses swarmed around Michelle Lee. One side of her face was burned black. Her clothes were soaked in blood. There was an annoying unbroken whine coming from one of the monitors in the room. Tim watched, the blood draining from his face, as they shocked her once...twice...three times...the whine never ceasing. He watched as they cracked open her chest, their gloves bloody as they tried to save her life.

He watched as they failed...and Michelle died.

Two. How many more? Tim thought about waiting, talking, but he couldn't. He just turned away from the doors and walked away. Outside the hospital, he hailed a cab. He missed the shock on the face of the cabby who picked him up. He just gave directions to take him back to the Navy Yard...or as close as he could get to it.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

The taxi was stopped about two blocks away. Tim paid the driver and got out, hobbling down the sidewalk, weaving through the rubberneckers, walking inexorably toward the Yard. Nothing would stop him. There was a brief attempt at the entrance to the Yard, but Tim was admitted after showing his badge. He got a lot of looks, but he didn't notice them at all. He just kept walking. He walked down Warrington, assuming that Paulding and possibly Dahlgren as well would be closed. It took longer and Tim was feeling worse, but he was drawn to NCIS as surely as if it was a magnet. It was a quarter mile away. It wasn't far. He saw the smoke, the dust that refused to settle. There were emergency crews all over...there were people all over...people being loaded in ambulances...people being shoved into body bags...people lying on the ground covered in nothing more than blood-stained white sheets.

Tim didn't get in the way. He didn't draw attention to himself. He passed the bodies but didn't see people he knew...until...

Scrubs. Green scrubs. Glasses, dark hair.

"Oh, no...Jimmy," Tim whispered, feeling his throat tighten painfully. From Tim's point of view, he looked relatively unmarred...until the people putting him into the bag lost their grip and he fell to the ground. Then...then, Tim saw the gaping head wound, probably half of Jimmy's head was gone. His back was destroyed. Whatever had hit him had got him from behind.

Jimmy was dead. Tim stared and then kept walking. He walked toward the cannon in the park. On the way, he saw his car. Not a scratch on it. He stared at the Porsche. The only thing wrong was a layer of dust and ash. Somehow, all the wreckage, the flying debris, it had all missed the car completely. The tightening got worse as he stared and his vision blurred. His car was fine. Jimmy was dead and his car was fine.

The implications of that were too painful and so Tim kept walking. The cannon had been knocked over by flying debris. Trees had fallen on top of it. The cannon was ruined. His car was fine and the cannon was destroyed. The park as a whole was a mess...but inevitably, Tim's gaze was pulled to NCIS...and he stared at the wreckage. He watched as more bodies were carted away. He caught a glimpse of Agent Lovitz, one of his arms was gone. He saw Adam Saunders, the junior field agent on Lovitz' team. When he watched two firemen carrying out the body of Geri Weaver, his insides seemed to freeze. With Lara, that was the whole team. Lovitz and all his agents had died.

Tim shivered. He wasn't sure if it was the cold from outside or inside his body, but he shivered.

He heard a call.

"We found someone! Over here!"

He focused, for about the first time in hours, and saw a bunch of people climbing through the rubble toward the east side of where the bullpen had been. Toward...MTAC. They were converging where MTAC used to be. Tim took a few half-hearted steps toward the building but he couldn't make himself walk over. He just watched, watched for the reaction that would signal someone found alive or dead. The frantic activity continued for about an hour before there was a visible loss of energy. Whoever they'd found was dead. He looked again at the dead bodies still waiting to be removed from the scene and then back to the place where more dead awaited.

He wasn't sure how he was managing to continue breathing. Another hour passed before the bodies...there were at least five...before they were moved out of the wreckage. One of them...

"Cynthia," Tim whispered to himself. He recognized the hair, the clothes. Like Lara, her face was too damaged. Cynthia was dead, too...and he saw another body. He thought he recognized it. He took another step, trying to get a closer look, to verify what he thought he knew, although he wasn't sure why. It was making him feel worse and worse. Every person they found meant another loss, another turn of the screws.

He didn't make it. He didn't see who it was. His legs wobbled and he fell to his knees behind the trees covering the cannon. He felt like he was going to die...but he knew he wouldn't...and that was worse.

Tim didn't know how long he knelt there, hidden from view, but the sun sank toward the horizon, the wind picked up, the search lights came on. All this happened and no one noticed the solitary figure in the park. He was alone. No one knew he was there. No one cared. They were too busy trying to save lives in need of saving...or recovering bodies so that they could be buried. One man not in obvious need of aid might as well be invisible. When Tim finally stood up again, it was only to watch the continuing body recovery. The relentlessly logical part of him knew that by now that was probably all there would be. He didn't know if anyone had survived besides him.

Tim felt completely helpless. There was nothing he could do. No way for him to save anyone. No way for him to help. All he could do was stand and watch. He had been late to work...and that had saved his life.

It was the worst punishment he could ever have had.


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter 4**

He stayed in the park all night long, watching the recovery efforts. It was cold...not bitterly so, but cool enough that Tim pulled his tattered jacket close around him as he watched the tireless efforts of the emergency crews. It wasn't enough and Tim felt cold all night. That didn't matter, however, because he could no more leave than he could cry. All his tears were locked up inside him at the moment...and he couldn't help. He could only watch.

Unbeknownst to Tim, there was a witness to his presence. Someone had noticed Tim standing and staring, but because of all the work there was to do, he had put that information to the side and focused only on the search. Tim was alive. He was obviously okay enough to be on the Yard. That was all that mattered...because there were others still missing...possibly dead. That took precedence...

...until he noticed that Tim had not left once during the long night, nor had he moved much. He was just there. He knew what Tim did when bad things happened: he shut himself off, avoided the pain as much as he could, kept it inside as long as possible. It was easier for him than expressing his emotions in an environment that too often dismissed emotions as weakness. He hoped, all through that long night, that Tim would leave, that he would show some semblance of independent thought and go home...but he didn't, and even if he had been well enough to leave the hospital, he still looked a mess. Every time he looked over at Tim, standing in the remains of the park, he couldn't help noticing the ruined and bloody clothes he was wearing, the maze of cuts on his face. He couldn't help knowing that there were more lacerations on his arms, legs, torso, and that the bruise covering Tim's right cheek was merely one example of a mass of contusions running all over his body.

Finally, at around 5:30 a.m. when most of the crews were taking a break, getting coffee, resting their bodies and minds for more searching, the one person who had noticed Tim walked over to the park, two cups of coffee in his hands. When he got there, he held one out in front of Tim's folded arms. He didn't seem to notice. His eyes were on NCIS, nothing else.

"McGee."

Tim didn't move...but he blinked.

"McGee, here. You look like the living dead."

Tim blinked again and finally moved his eyes down to the coffee. A trembling hand reached out to take it.

"You cold?"

Tim didn't speak, but he took the coffee and slowly sipped at it.

There was something that seemed like martyrdom in Tim's expression and it was annoying. "What are you _doing_ here?"

Tim shrugged but he was watching the few workers still poking around in the rubble. A couple of cadaver dogs were on duty as well. Cadavers.

"Tim...talk to me."

Another sip and then a sigh. "You're alive."

"Yeah. So are you."

"You took me to the hospital."

"Yes."

"Why did you leave me there?"

"You were in good hands."

"You left me alone."

"I had work to do."

"You left me alone. I thought that the only way I'd be alone is if everyone had died. You didn't...but you left me there."

"I couldn't do anything at the hospital. You know that, Tim."

Another sip...and another. "I watched Michelle Lee die. She was alone, too. Jimmy is dead. So is Cynthia. I thought I saw...is Director Shephard dead?"

"Yes." He tried not to remember his view of Jenny's mangled body. He failed miserably. The blast had got her from the side...one whole side of her body black...and red.

"I thought so." Tim's voice was dead. His eyes never moved from the sight in front of them.

"Why are you here?"

"Where else would I be?"

"Home?"

"I spend more time here than I do at my apartment. I know more people here than I do anywhere else. Why would I go there when everything and everyone important to me is here?"

"Because you're injured."

"Not enough."

"Not enough for what?"

"I'm not leaving until they find everyone. I don't care how long it takes. I won't leave."

"Tim..."

"I won't leave."

"Fine." It was too hard to argue, and he wasn't in the mood. "Enjoy the view." He started to walk away.

"Is anyone alive?" The voice didn't change, but the question made him turn around to answer.

"I hope so." Then, he walked away.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

_Enjoy the view..._ Tim couldn't react. He couldn't _let_ himself react to that condemnation. All he could do was watch. But the words whirled around in his head. It wasn't that he had hoped for more. He didn't want pity. He didn't want sympathy. He wanted what couldn't possibly be given...and so he wanted nothing at all. There was so much to feel and to hear and to see and to know...that he couldn't do any of it. He just had to stand there and wait for something to happen...inside him.

A thick covering of clouds hid the sun and made the day even more gloomy than it would be normally. As more bodies were found, Tim's heart seemed to sink a little deeper. It was as though his whole life depended on them finding someone alive and whole...but he knew that wasn't it. Someone _was_ alive and whole. That wasn't enough.

Nothing would be enough.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

"We got a live one!"

Tim perked up at the cry. He took a step, but he couldn't go any further. He just waited and watched. A stretcher was rushed into the area in the middle. They'd begun digging about an hour before. Someone was alive...for now. He walked a few more steps, but at the road, he stopped and watched from a distance as a limp figure was pulled out and placed onto the stretcher. He couldn't tell who it was, but he watched. As the group got closer, he saw... wristbands...wristbands with spikes. Only one person wore those at NCIS.

_Abby_. His mouth shaped the syllables, but no sound came from his lips. She had worn pants that day...yesterday. They were ripped and torn...black, but then, they were generally black anyway. She wasn't burned that Tim could see, but he was still not very close. Her shirt had red blotches...but that could be the way it looked anyway. Abby had shirts like that. She could be okay...after more than a day buried alive. She was loaded onto an ambulance and whisked away.

Abby was alive...for now. She wasn't dead yet, but Michelle had been alive in the ER before she died. Tim saw him as the ambulance left the Yard. They stared at each other but neither one moved toward the other and Tim retreated back to the cannon.

However, he'd barely taken up his position when another called dragged him unwillingly back to the road.

"Here's another one!"

"Another stretcher! Now!"

This time, Tim found himself climbing over the rubble, weaving his way to the location that would have been Abby's lab. As he did, he stopped. He saw a hand, missing an index finger sticking out of a pile.

"There's someone here," he whispered. No one heard him. All the panic, the fear, the grief, all of it burst out of him in a single cry. "There's someone in here!"

He didn't see half the crew detach themselves from the group in Abby's lab and join him as he began carefully trying to move the cinder blocks, the metal struts, anything. Tim didn't get to help for very long. They pushed him out of the way...as if he was nothing. Tim backed up and watched with fear. The person to whom the hand belonged couldn't still be alive. It was impossible...and Tim was afraid to find out who it was. He didn't even see the other survivor get taken away. He didn't see who it was. All he saw was the continuing efforts of the men and women to free another body.

There was a hand on his shoulder, gripping him tightly. Tim was glad of the contact, but he couldn't spare the attention.

"Tim, you don't have to see this." It was a whispered statement...and utterly false. Tim didn't even bother to respond.

The minutes stretched by. Tim was forced to stand further away as they brought in equipment to pull off some of the larger pieces. They brought in braces and jacks to keep the detritus from falling onto the body...it had to be only a body. Tim watched and watched, the hand still on his shoulder, but then, as they were removing the last pieces, Tim realized that he couldn't watch. He couldn't see who else had died. It would tear him apart. He turned and tore away from the hand. Slipping, tripping, he clambered over the piles, the rubble, the sad remains of his place of employment. He kept walking when he got out. He crossed the street, walked by the cannon, around the cars and the fence, walked to the edge of the Anacostia...and stopped.

There was the USS Barry. It was all right. Dusty, ashy, but all right. Closed, of course...but it was still there. Tim sucked the air noisily into his mouth as he walked along the dock. It hurt to breathe, but that pain was nothing. It barely registered. It didn't matter. He had _run away_. One of his colleagues had been buried in the rubble and he had run away from the sight.

_I'm a coward. I'm a weak, worthless coward._

He kept walking along the dock until he reached the last pier. No ship was moored there and he turned onto the pier, walking as far as he could. When he reached the edge of the pier, he stared out at the Anacostia, willing himself to feel the pain, the physical pain, in the hopes of blocking out the mental and emotional agony running through him. He _wanted_ the pain of his bruised ribs, the surgery, his contusions, his lacerations. He wanted to feel them all. He wanted to feel the injuries he'd received, the injuries that were so much easier, so much lighter, than those received by his friends.

"Tim."

The voice behind him was like receiving tonic and poison at once. Comfort and censure. Forgiveness and condemnation. Tim couldn't decide what he wanted to do. He wished he had the courage to throw himself into the Anacostia...but he wouldn't. That was the worst of all: he still wanted to live.

"Tim, look at me."

Tim turned around, green eyes staring into blue.

"Dead?" he asked.

"Yes."

Tim couldn't face those eyes. He started to turn around again.

"No, Tim. Don't turn away. You can't deal with it like this."

Tim looked at him...looked at his boss...looked at Gibbs. He heard the compassionate note, but...Gibbs had left him. He knew what Tim was like. He knew Tim's worthlessness. He shouldn't be pretending that Tim wasn't being weak. He shouldn't act like he cared.

All these thoughts ran through Tim's head, but the only words he actually spoke formed a question.

"Who was it?"


	5. Chapter 5

**Chapter 5**

"Tim..."

"Who was it?"

Gibbs sighed and, for the first time in the years Tim had known him, he looked old. "It was Ziva."

Tim nodded. He had as good as killed Ziva. Yes...that was it.

"Tony is alive. He was with Abby."

Tim nodded again. What was there to say? If they weren't seriously injured, Gibbs wouldn't look so grim. They could still die.

"They're still searching."

Tim nodded once more. As much as he had craved company before, now, he just wanted to be alone...with his guilt.

"Tim, you need to go home. You look like you're going to collapse."

Tim shook his head.

"What good can you do here?"

"Nothing," Tim whispered.

"What?"

"No good. I can't do any good."

In his own grief, Gibbs didn't notice the tone, the added meaning to the words. "Then, why stay?"

It was as if Gibbs had slapped him, not on the head, but Tim didn't express that added pain. He didn't express his grief. He just shook his head and began to walk back up the pier.

"Tim!"

"What about Ducky?"

"Ducky wasn't working yesterday," Gibbs said. "He was going to come in during the afternoon. He asked for a half day. He's at the hospital with Abby... and Tony."

"The MTAC staff?"

"All dead."

"Intel? Jardine? Lois?"

"They're working on that area now. Tim, there's nothing you can do here."

"That's not why I'm here." Tim knew he was useless. Gibbs didn't need to tell him that.

"Then, why?"

Tim shook his head again and continued to walk away from the pier. He walked along the dock, back to the park, back to his position by the cannon and he watched.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

When they pulled out Nikki Jardine's body, the face mask somehow still on her, Gibbs looked over to see how Tim took it...but he was gone. It had been hours since he'd last paid any attention to the silent watcher. He was glad. Tim didn't need to see all this. Gibbs himself was having a hard time. He had seen the chaos of the first few hours when the survivors seemed to outnumber the dead. He had seen the fading hopes as more bodies were discovered. He had seen each body recovered, and he had known each person. ...but that wasn't quite true. There had been three he hadn't known. As he helped carry another body out to the street, Gibbs decided he didn't have the strength to think about the who and the how and the why. There would be another team who would investigate. DHS would undoubtably get involved as well...possibly the FBI. This wasn't just an attack on NCIS. It was more.

They reached the street and set down the body. Gibbs looked at the young man laying so silently. He hadn't been burned at all, only crushed. He was a new hire, only been with Intel for a few months. Then, he looked over at another man lying a few feet away. Jonathan Latrell. He'd been transferred to Headquarters from CRFO only last week. Then, there was Lois Dearing. She'd been with NCIS for years, before it even _was_ NCIS, a permanent fixture in Intel. She had been slated for retirement in another month. The collections had been going around for a retirement gift and party. This wasn't including the...body parts. Gibbs had looked but he hadn't lingered. He wasn't a masochist. He figured he owed it to his colleagues to help recover their bodies, not sift through the remains and try to identify them. That was why he was still helping, even though he was tired and sore and grieving.

It had been just another day...a day like any other. A little slow, but that wasn't a bad thing...if only they'd been busy. Gibbs pulled a small box out of his pocket. It had been found between Jimmy and Michelle. An engagement ring. Jimmy had been in the act of proposing when the bomb had gone off. From the positions of their bodies, it looked as though he'd tried to shelter Michelle from the blast. It had worked...for a while. Michelle had survived the blast only to die later on.

"Jethro?"

Gibbs looked up from the ring box and met the gaze of the approaching FBI agent.

"Tobias...what brings you here? You guys working the case?"

"The FBI, DHS, the CIA, NCIS...the whole alphabet soup's in on this one. You shouldn't be surprised."

"Nope."

"What surprises me is the fact that you _aren't_ involved."

"I don't have a team anymore, Tobias."

Fornell sighed heavily and looked at the building. "I had heard that DiNozzo and McGee both came through."

"Tony is in critical condition, might not make it...and McGee..."

"I know about Agent McGee. I saw him. That's why I'm here."

"What do you mean?"

"Aren't you keeping track of your team, Jethro?"

Gibbs looked at the box again. "Ziva's dead, Tobias. She's under that sheet over there. They ran out of body bags. Agent Lee died at the hospital. Tony...McGee..." He shrugged. "Then, there's this." He tossed the ring box.

"Whose is it?" Fornell asked, opening the box and recognizing the significance of the ring inside.

"Jimmy Palmer's. He was going to propose to Lee."

"Yesterday?"

"Yeah. It looks like he _was_ proposing when the bomb went off."

Fornell shook his head and swore feelingly. "It's not fair, is it."

"Nope." Gibbs stared steadfastly at the ruins. "Why are you here, Fornell?"

"I told you...because of McGee."

"Yeah, and I didn't understand you the first time."

"Some rubbernecker saw a guy standing around, looking 'too interested' in the rescue. She called for help, thinking she was single-handedly solving the case, and they sent me over to check it out."

"It was McGee?"

"Yeah."

Gibbs looked around and still didn't see any sign of Tim. "Where? I thought he left."

"Nope. He's sitting on the ground by his car. I couldn't get him to say much. Was he in the building?"

"Just outside. He was running late."

"Ah." Fornell sounded entirely too understanding. "He looks terrible, you know."

"I know."

"You need to talk to him, Gibbs."

"I've tried."

"You need to try harder. I've seen the expression on his face on other people before. At best, he's exhausted but won't leave. At worst...he feels guilty."

"Guilty?"

"Come on, Jethro, I know you're not stupid. You've seen survivor's guilt before. In the war, with your own people in NCIS...in yourself." He looked a bit hesitant at bringing up the past, but Gibbs didn't react. "From what I know of McGee, he's much more likely to feel that kind of guilt than anyone else. Sometimes, people get over it...but sometimes..."

"McGee's smarter than that."

"No, he's not, Jethro." Fornell walked around and started pointing to all the bodies. "Do you know all these people?"

"Yeah, pretty much."

"Does he?"

"Most of them."

"They're dead and he's alive...he's alive because he was late for work. The people who were on time died while the one deserving of one of your infamous headslaps survived. McGee's a boy scout. He does everything as close to perfect as he can...and the one time he didn't, it saved his life. You do the math, Jethro."

Gibbs stared at the bodies. He knew Fornell was right, but he just didn't feel like he had the energy, the ability to deal with Tim's guilt while shouldering his own grief.

Fornell walked over to him, stared him straight in the eye. "Jethro, the dead are going to stay that way. Nothing you can do will help them. The bodies will be found without you. The dead don't need you right now. The dead are dead, but there's a man sitting on the ground over there who might not stay in the land of the living if he doesn't get some help. You've lost one of your team. You might lose another. Don't let it be a clean sweep."

"You find anything yet?"

"Just barely started. I'll keep you apprised."

"Thanks, Tobias."

Fornell shook his head. "There's nothing to be grateful for right now."

"No, there's not."

Fornell walked away and Gibbs turned his head toward the parking lot. It was a deep and heartfelt sigh that escaped his lips, but he walked over to the site coordinator and told him he was taking a break. Then, he began the trek to try and talk to his agent.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

Tim sat silently on the ground. He hadn't been able to continue standing. He was too much of a weakling. Instead, he had walked to his car with the vague idea of driving it away, but as soon as he had seen it, all the feeling had left his legs and he had sunk to the ground. Now, he was leaning against his Porsche, staring blindly at the car parked next to it. He didn't know what to do. Ziva was dead. Tony and Abby might soon follow. Ziva was dead. The only reason she had made it to work on time was because he had told her which roads to avoid. If he hadn't done that, she'd still be alive, late like he had been.

_I killed Ziva. I killed Ziva. I killed Ziva._ The sentence repeated in his head over and over. He remembered her hand, marred and broken. Ziva was dead. He had killed her. Someone had come over to talk to him once. Tim had almost recognized the voice, but he hadn't spent the effort figuring it out. It didn't matter. Ziva was still dead. Tony and Abby might be. Jimmy, Michelle, Jonathan, Cynthia, Director Shephard, Lara, Agent Lovitz, Geri...they were all dead with even more Tim didn't know about yet.

Another pair of shoes approached. Tim didn't bother looking to see who it was. It didn't matter. Nothing really mattered now.

The shoes stopped next to him and then, the person sat down beside him, not speaking. That was a relief. He didn't need more words. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw a coffee cup move up. Gibbs. It was Gibbs. Why was Gibbs back here? Was he trying to show how much better Tim could have reacted? Was he going to tell him that more people had died?

But Gibbs didn't say anything at all. Instead, he sat and drank his coffee, not speaking for a full fifteen minutes. After he finished his cup, he set it on the ground and put his hand on Tim's shoulder, but still didn't speak. Tim felt the hand and wished that it meant that he wasn't to blame, but he knew that he was.

Still, neither of them spoke. Tim just stared, waiting for Gibbs to give up on him again...but Gibbs didn't. He just sat with his hand on Tim's shoulder. There was no feeling that he had to speak...and so he didn't... not for a long time, but he couldn't keep the question in.

"Intel?" It was barely a whisper. Tim just couldn't get out anything more than that.

"They were staffed light yesterday."

"I know. I was on tap to help them out if they got stuck." Tim still spoke in a soft whisper. "Lois, Nikki, Jonathan, and Don...plus the part timers."

"Yeah."

"How many?"

"No survivors."

Tim closed his eyes for a long moment but he couldn't do anything more than that. Gibbs' hand tightened its grip...but again, neither of them spoke, even though there were words, feelings, screaming themselves out into the air between them.

Ten more minutes passed in silence. Then...

"How many more?"

"Don't know. We've got to be getting close to the end."

"The end..." Tim couldn't fathom something so solid as an _end_, not to any of it. Loss upon loss. Death upon death. Destruction upon destruction. The pain, the fear, all of it would keep coming and coming and coming.

Suddenly, Gibbs' phone started ring, startling the two of them. Gibbs got up to answer it.

"Hey, Duck." Even Gibbs' voice sounded resigned. "Tell me."

Gibbs walked further away and Tim couldn't hear anymore...not that it mattered. Someone else must have died. It felt like there was a wild animal inside him, tearing him apart from the inside out. It was screaming for release but Tim couldn't let it go.

So he just stared.


	6. Chapter 6

**Chapter 6**

"What is it, Ducky?"

Ducky's voice was heavy. _"Tony is still in surgery. They may have to remove his spleen, and they are worried about possible thoracic spinal cord injury...in addition to everything else."_

Gibbs rubbed his hand over his face. "And Abby?" he asked, afraid of the answer.

"_Abigail is...she's in a coma, Jethro. The doctors have done all they can and they're hopeful that she'll regain consciousness, but..."_

"But she hasn't yet."

"_No. I'm sorry. They were able to reconstruct the broken bones in her face, and the burns will leave only minimal scarring."_ There was a long pause followed by a longer sigh. _"Have you seen Timothy?"_

"Yes. He's sitting about ten feet away from me," Gibbs said looking back. Tim hadn't moved. It was unnerving.

"_He's what?"_

"Sitting on the ground about ten feet away from me."

"_You're still at NCIS, aren't you?"_

"Yes."

"_How long has he been there?"_

"Since yesterday." Ducky sounded much too concerned, Gibbs felt, considering he hadn't seen Tim at all.

"_Did you know that he checked out of the hospital against medical advice?"_

"No."

"_According to the nurse, he was out of recovery for less than an hour before he insisted on leaving."_

"Less than an hour?"

"_Didn't you _talk_ to him, Jethro?"_

"Yes, but he's not saying much, Ducky, and I didn't think I needed to ask him whether he asked permission to leave."

There was another pause. _"I'm so sorry, Jethro. I...I called Jimmy's mother and told her the news. She already seemed to know. This isn't your fault."_

"No, but I think Tim thinks it's his."

"_Unsurprising, I'm afraid. They tried to get him to speak to someone here, and they tried to get him to stay, but he refused. I had hoped, after hearing about it, that he would have simply gone home. I should have known better."_

"Ziva's dead, Ducky."

The sharp intake of breath told Gibbs how much that had shocked the ME. _"Oh, dear. Oh...dear."_ Not even Ducky could think of anything to say.

The two of them fell silent, not hanging up, but not speaking. Finally, Ducky let out another long sigh.

"_Jethro...could you get Timothy back here?"_

"I can try. He may not want to go."

"_Do what you have to. He should not be out at all...and especially not there."_

"I'll get him back, Ducky."

"_Are there any estimates of total casualties?"_

"I don't know," Gibbs answered. "I think they're at around forty or fifty dead so far."

"_Such a small number...but so large."_

"Yeah. Be there soon, Duck."

"_Very well..."_

Neither hung up for a moment, but then, Gibbs disconnected and returned his attention to Tim. He walked over and put his hand on Tim's shoulder, as he had before.

"Tim, it's time to go."

Tim didn't move, except to shake his head in rejection of that idea.

"Yes, Tim. We need to go."

"Where?" Tim's voice was listless.

"To the hospital."

"No."

Gibbs knelt beside Tim. "They're almost done. They don't have much left to search."

"They're not done yet."

"Tim...Tony and Abby are at the hospital. Ducky is there, too, but he's only one person. He can't be with both of them at once. They need us...no one here does."

"How bad?"

Gibbs wondered if he should be explicit, but he figured after everything else, Tim couldn't feel much worse. He knew that _he_ couldn't. "Tony's in surgery. He might be paralyzed and they might have to remove his spleen. Abby got burned pretty badly but they think they've got that under control and they were able to reconstruct the bones in her face...but..."

"...but what?"

"She's in a coma."

Tim nodded.

"So let's go."

Finally..._finally_, Tim looked up at Gibbs, his face blank...unless you looked in his eyes...deeply.

"I don't think I can, Boss."

Gibbs tightened his grip. "Tim...Ziva is dead. Tony and Abby are injured. Jimmy and Lee are dead. I don't want to lose anyone else from my team." He paused. "Please."

Tim stared at him for a long time and then nodded.

"Good. We'll have to take my car. They're not letting unofficial cars in and out. I still have the sedan."

Tim didn't reply. Instead, he began to climb to his feet...but he nearly collapsed, forcing Gibbs to put a quick arm around his waist...subsequently causing Tim to wince at the pressure on his bruised and damaged torso.

"We're stopping to get you something to eat on the way."

Tim shook his head again. "I'm not hungry."

"I don't care. I'll bet you haven't eaten anything since yesterday."

"Nope."

"You need to, McGee...even if you _don't_ feel hungry."

Tim shook his head again, but he could hardly protest as his weak limbs did very little to assist him in getting to Gibbs' car. As they walked, Gibbs noticed a familiar person turn away from the ruins and give him an encouraging wave. He nodded back and then focused on assisting the one living/conscious member of his team.

Once Tim was settled in the passenger seat, he seemed to shrink in size as he slumped down...whether from exhaustion or grief, Gibbs didn't know...and he didn't ask. He just put the car in gear and drove away from the carnage. On the way, he stopped at a Starbucks and got himself more coffee and Tim a pastry. It wasn't much, but it was more than he had. Tim took a bite but no more. He set it on his lap and stared out the window, obviously seeing nothing. Gibbs was about to force him to eat more when Tim spoke.

"There was more than one," he whispered.

"More than one, what?"

"More than one explosion." Tim closed his eyes, as if seeing it all again...which he probably was.

"How do you know?"

For a moment, Tim bit his lip and Gibbs cursed his own thoughtlessness at making him relive it.

"The glass...rippled...before it broke. I've never seen anything like it." His voice was breathless. "It rippled...from right to left..._and_ from left to right, starting in the middle. When I woke up...there was another one...on the left side...and it was gone. It was all gone."

"You remember?"

"Boom. Boom. Boom." Tim still wasn't looking anywhere else. "It happened so slowly...I seemed to have forever...just to watch it happen...and then, it was all happening at once. How is that possible? Things happening all at once and not at all...at the same time?"

"Happens more often than you might think."

Silence descended once more and Tim looked out the window.

"Where were you, Boss?"

"What do you mean?"

"You're not hurt."

"Getting coffee. Tony spilled mine. He saved my life." Gibbs smiled. Tim did not. "You know this isn't your fault, right?"

"I know."

Gibbs had never heard a less convincing lie...and since it was the truth, it was quite an achievement. Tim did know it...but he didn't believe it. He didn't bother to point out such complexities. Instead, he concentrated on driving...because driving kept him from thinking about how many people had died, how close he had come to losing everyone...how much closer he could still be. He had seen Abby and Tony. He had thought Abby must be dead. He had no idea how the two of them had managed to survive for nearly a day. Ziva...she had been working in the bullpen. If only he had sent her down to the lab as well. If only... As terrible as it was, Gibbs had lost enough people to know that it wasn't his fault that they had died. This time, there was nothing he could have done. If it had been possible, he would have changed his life for theirs, but it wasn't possible. That was the way life was.

Gibbs knew that...but he didn't think Tim did. He remembered Tim's expression when they had realized that Ari nearly killed him as well as Kate. There had been just a moment that had flashed by so quickly no one else caught it. Tim had felt guilty...because he had lived and Kate had died. He remembered the repressed tears in Tim's voice when they had realized that the man Tim had fired upon was a cop. It was that guilt again. The problem was that Gibbs didn't know how Tim had moved beyond the guilt before. The sheer mind-numbing horror of what had happened was enough to catapult Tim headlong into a depression if it wasn't stopped.

"Tim...do you really?"

"I watched the building explode," Tim said softly. "It blew up...literally, in my face...but I was outside looking in. Everyone else was inside...looking out...and the glass rippled. It was...I've never seen a shockwave move through solid objects before, not like that. I've never felt that before."

Gibbs didn't reply.

"How long?" Tim asked.

"How long, what?"

"How long do you think they felt it? How long were Tony and Abby conscious? How long did Ziva survive before she died? How long did it take for Jimmy to die? How long?"

"I don't know, Tim." Gibbs sighed. "You and I...we'll _never_ know."

Two minutes later, they arrived at the hospital.

They didn't admit it...but neither of them wanted to go inside. They didn't want to see what had happened to the ones who had survived.


	7. Chapter 7

**Chapter 7**

There was a cloud, blunting all of Tim's feelings, decreasing his ability to interpret his surroundings. He barely noticed Ducky sitting on a chair in the waiting room. He was still holding the doughnut in his hands, wondering how he had come to have it. Sound kept cutting in and out again. He watched Ducky stand and walk to him as if he was watching a movie.

"Timothy...what...don't you...over here?"

Tim stared without comprehension. Ducky's expression became concerned. He reached out and took Tim by the arm.

"Just...right...There's a..."

Tim didn't resist when Ducky pulled him to a chair and forced him to sit down. He sat there, staring at Ducky and Gibbs, wishing that it was all a dream...but it wasn't a dream. It wasn't even a nightmare. It was real. What he had seen was real; the looped images were his memories of the day before. Watching Michelle had been about the worst he remembered because she was the only person he'd actually seen die. He had seen the doctors crack open her chest, had heard that piercing whine as her heart stopped, had watched them try to restart it, try again...and try again...and fail. He closed his eyes, trying to block out the sight, only to realize that it was in his mind, that closing his eyes merely focused the image. The blood took on a brilliant sheen. Tim shuddered and let out his breath in a soft moan, clenching his hands into fists.

"Timothy, I believe you can just throw it away if you don't want it. Crushing the pastry won't help."

Ducky's words, all of them, penetrated and Tim opened his eyes. He had smashed the doughnut flat. Again, he wondered when he had picked it up.

"Timothy?"

Tim looked up at Ducky and tried to smile. He managed a grimace.

"I guess I should go wash my hands," he said softly. His voice was almost a whisper. "Where's the bathroom?"

Ducky looked as though he wanted to say something else, but what came out was, "Just down the hallway, on your left."

"Thanks...Ducky." Tim stood and walked to the bathroom. He dropped the remains of the doughnut into the trash and then began to wash off the icing and crumbs. As he did, he looked at himself in the mirror...and gasped. He hadn't taken the time to look at himself at all. It hadn't seemed important. Now, he gaped at himself. He was still wearing the same clothes he'd been wearing when the bomb had gone off, and they were torn, bloody. There was a long rip across his chest, but where the fabric should have exposed bare skin, it showed only a long bandage. His face drew most of his attention. A maze of cuts and bruises made him nearly unrecognizable. Tim only knew he was looking at himself because he felt his cheek and saw his hand moving...and his hand was covered with a bandage as well, now dingy and gray from his desperate attempt to free Ziva. The same hand reached out to touch the mirror.

It was just his reflection.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

When Tim returned, he felt somehow even worse than he had before...but he had no idea why. He rejoined Ducky and sat silently beside him, waiting. Every so often, Ducky would act like he wanted to talk, but he never said anything. Tim wondered why, but he didn't bother asking. Talking would only make all this more real...and it was real enough as it was. Gibbs sat down on the other side of Tim a few minutes (or was it hours?) later. Hedged in, Tim felt safer...but again, he didn't know why. When the doctors came to tell them what was going on, both Ducky and Gibbs stood up, but Tim didn't. He allowed the fog to settle in and tried to stop thinking.

He didn't quite succeed. When Ducky and Gibbs came back, he couldn't tune them out like he wanted to. He was forced to face what they had to say.

"Tony survived his surgery. He's recovering, and they're allowing Abigail to receive vistors," Ducky said. "I suggest that we divide and conquer. We can switch off later."

"I'll go and see Tony," Tim said before either of them could say anything else.

"Are you sure, Timothy? You must be worried about Abigail as well."

"Where's Tony?" Tim asked. He stood up and tried to look more stern than he felt. In reality, he felt about as firm as jello.

Ducky and Gibbs exchanged significant glances but neither protested. Instead, Gibbs pointed and told him the room number. Tim nodded and walked away, although he could hear them muttering behind him as he left. He tried not to wonder what they were saying. Instead, he focused on putting one foot in front of the other toward Tony's room...when all he wanted to do was run in the opposite direction and hide from the reality of what had happened.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

"Did he say anything to you at all, Ducky?"

"Not much, Jethro. I think he's in shock...not in the medical sense. I tried to talk to him, but he wouldn't respond." Ducky sighed and stared at the door in front of them. "I wish he had come to Abby first. She would want him here."

Gibbs nodded. "I think he wanted to be here...and that's why he wouldn't come."

"You're probably right. He needs to talk, but we can't force him to do so."

Gibbs looked at the door. "How bad is she, Ducky?"

"Bad...but not so bad that staring at the door is preferable," Ducky said, smiling a little. He leaned past Gibbs and pushed open the door. Gibbs entered first and saw...the woman who must be Abby on the bed. Half her face was covered in gauze, the other half scraped and bruised. Gone were the wristbands and the dog collar, the clothing that made her stand out...and the excitable spirit that made her unique.

"She's so...quiet," Gibbs said, a disconcerting lump in his throat. He walked to her and sat down. "I don't think I've _ever_ seen her so still."

"Nor ever will again, I'm sure," Ducky said, his voice soft and soothing.

"Tim asked me a question when I got to NCIS yesterday. I've been thinking about it a lot."

"What was it?"

"He asked why this happened...and I don't know, Duck." Gibbs reached out and took one of Abby's limp hands in his own. "I just don't know."

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

There was a nurse in Tony's room, changing the IV bag, when Tim finally opened the door. Her expression flickered for an instant, but then, she smiled at him and beckoned him to come closer. Tim did so, only reluctantly. Tony looked bad, swathed in bandages...and so pale...so empty.

"He doesn't look like he's asleep," Tim whispered, mostly to himself...but the nurse heard him.

"What do you mean?"

Tim looked up at her, surprised that she was still there, but then returned his gaze to Tony's still form.

"In the movies..." He laughed at the irony. "...they always say that about people who are hurt, that they look like they're sleeping. Tony's hurt, and he's not sleeping...and he doesn't _look_ like he is either." Tim swallowed hard. "He looks like he's dead."

"I promise, he's not dead."

Tim nodded in acceptance of that. "But he's not asleep either."

"No. Not exactly."

"Is he going to make it?"

"We hope so. Right now, we just have to wait. It's up to Tony, not us."

"But will he make it?" There was a plaintive note in Tim's voice that even _he_ caught.

The nurse didn't tell him to buck up and she didn't tell him not to worry. Instead, she took his arm and directed him, not to the chair beside Tony's bed, but to a bed nearby. Gently, she sat him down on the bed.

"You were in the same blast, weren't you."

Tim nodded mutely, still staring at Tony. "I was outside."

He didn't see the nurse's understanding nod.

"Have you slept at all since yesterday?"

Tim shook his head.

"Have you eaten?"

Another shake.

"Will you let us help you–? What's your name?"

"Tim."

"Will you let us help you, Tim?"

"They need the help, not me," Tim whispered. He stared at Tony, willing the damage to go away...but it didn't. It couldn't. Maybe it never would.

"You need help, Tim. So do your friends. You can't help them if you're like this. Let _us_ help _you_."

Tim just nodded.

"Okay...for now, we can just set you up in here. Is that all right?"

Tim nodded again, feeling the fog encroaching once more.

"Good. Just sit tight. I'll be right back." She started to walk away and heard a sigh.

"I ignored him."

"What?" She turned back and saw Tim's dirty hands cover his face. He wasn't crying. His agony was too deep for tears.

"Tony called me. I was late for work...stuck in traffic. He called me. I ignored him. He teases me all the time." Tim's voice cracked dangerously. "I thought that the...the last thing I needed was to hear Tony bugging me one more time." Tim's hands dropped from his face and his arms tightened around his torso. "What if...what if I never hear him teasing me again? What if..." Tim began to rock back and forth. "What if he...he would have been somewhere else, somewhere safe if only I had answered the phone? What if he dies? What if they all die? ...like Ziva...because of me."

The nurse looked at Tim. He didn't see her anymore. She decided that his physical needs could wait for the moment and approached him slowly. When she reached the bed, she touched Tim gently on the shoulder. He didn't appear to notice her at all. Carefully, aware of his inner turmoil, she put her arms around him and rocked with him, changing the agony-laden shaking to a comforting sway.

"Shh...it's all right, Tim. It will be all right. It seems dark right now, but it _will _get better." She didn't dare say anything else because she knew none of the details and, for all she knew, he could be right. It wouldn't be a good idea to pretend things were all fine when they weren't.

It didn't matter _what_ she said, really. Tim was lost in his grief, his guilt, his shock and horror. As kind as the nurse was, she wasn't who he needed. When she left him, he slumped forward, his elbows on his knees and his hands supporting his head. As the door closed, she thought she heard a final question.

"What if I killed them?"


	8. Chapter 8

**Chapter 8**

Ducky ventured up the stairs to check on Tony...and on Tim. He wasn't sure which one worried him more. As he peeked into the room, he was surprised to see Tony, still unconscious (well, _that_ wasn't a surprise, really)...and Tim sacked out on the bed beside him, asleep, bandages changed and clean.

"He was out like a light as soon as we were able to convince him to lay down," an amused voice said behind him.

Ducky jumped and turned around. A nurse was looking at Tim with a concerned smile. Then, she eased by Ducky and went to Tony's bed.

"How is he?" Ducky asked.

"Which one?"

"Both...but I meant Tony."

The nurse sighed, her smile fading. "It's a waiting game now. We have to see if Tony's body can fight back from all the injuries. He was a long time injured before they got him out and, quite frankly, I'm amazed he's alive at all. That bodes well for the future."

"His spine?"

Finally, the smile returned. "Intact. He shouldn't be paralyzed. The surgeons have performed a partial splenectomy. Hopefully, the spleen will be able to recover and function. It does work, but not every time. If it does, then, Tony's body will be able to fight off infection on its own rather than depending on medication. We were able to stop the internal bleeding...but you already knew this, didn't you."

"Yes, but it never hurts to hear it more than once...helps it all sink in."

"Tim...he was worn out, and I've put in a call to Psych to come down and talk to him. His damage is more psychological than physical, although he needs to take better care of himself in the future."

"I'll see to it myself if necessary."

"Good. I found out that he was released AMA. Sometimes, I hate that we have to allow it...but what I hate more is that no one he knew was here to stop him from leaving."

Ducky nodded. "I, myself, regret that I wasn't here. We lost quite a few people. It was very difficult to know where to be."

"Someone came in with him, but then left him alone. I understand that there were other victims to worry about...but Tim needed someone who was thinking clearly. He certainly wasn't."

"Yes." Ducky gave a deep sigh and felt very old. He sank into the chair beside Tony. "We lost too many. It doesn't feel like there are enough of us to comfort those who are left."

The nurse didn't respond immediately. Instead, she busied herself with changing the IV bag and checking all Tony's vitals. When she finished, she walked around the bed.

"Dr. Mallard..."

"Please, call me Ducky. No need for such formalities."

She smiled. "Ducky...I don't envy any of you the long road ahead...but you all have such closeness. I think you can make it." She began to head to Tim's bed when Ducky caught her hand. Gently, and with complete decorum, he kissed it.

"My dear," he examined her tag, "Selena, you are a jewel in the medical profession's crown. You know just how to comfort without patronizing."

Selena blushed. "Thank you, Ducky."

"I will detain you no longer." He turned back to Tony and began to talk to him in a low voice, inaudible to Selena as she checked Tim over. He didn't stir at all. As she left, she looked at the three men and felt her heart ache for them and the troubles they faced as the survivors: one untouched, one psychologically damaged, the last critically injured. All of them needed to heal in their own ways.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

Gibbs lingered outside the door to Tony's room for a few seconds. He hadn't wanted to leave Abby alone, but neither Tim nor Ducky had come and he wanted to check on Tony. Finally, he pushed open the door and heard the rambling voice of Ducky.

"...and that, Tony, is how you win friends and influence people...in _certain_ circles, of course. I wouldn't recommend that for the places you frequent."

Gibbs took in the scene: Tim, miraculously asleep, Tony, looking dead, and Ducky...looking normal, if not really happy.

"He fell asleep? How did you do it?"

Ducky started a bit and looked away from Tony, his eyes resting on Gibbs only briefly before moving onto Tim's sleeping form.

"I didn't. It was Selena, Tony's nurse. Timothy was already asleep when I arrived. We're to get him to eat something when he wakes."

Gibbs nodded. "What about Tony?"

"Unchanged, but they are hopeful that he'll recover eventually. Abigail?"

"They were saying something about her pupils reacting to light, but she's not awake by any means." Gibbs rubbed a hand over his tired face. "Ducky...we've lost too many. We can't lose any more."

Ducky stood and walked to Gibbs. "You mean that _you_ cannot lose any more."

"I'm almost all that's left. The best keep getting taken."

Ducky smiled. "That doesn't say much for those of us who survived, now, does it."

Gibbs smiled in return, but there was too much sadness in it. "They keep dying, Ducky. Pacchi, Kate, Paula...and now, look at how many others, all at once. I don't want to lose them." It was the hardest thing he'd done, admitting that weakness. Ducky said nothing in response, but he nodded in understanding.

"Why don't you stay up here for a while. I'll go down and bore Abigail with more stories. She always did enjoy a rousing cricket match." Ducky chuckled to himself and left Gibbs alone with the remnants of his team.

Taking over the vacated seat beside Tony's bed, Gibbs stared at his senior agent. No words would come. He couldn't think of anything to say...or do. For once, the Gibbs slap didn't seem like the solution, and there was nothing else he could do...except wait. Abby had family...so did Tim. They should be called, if they weren't already on their way, but Tony...his father was...somewhere, and Gibbs felt no need to call him, based on how Tony had acted...actually, he didn't want to call any of them. He told himself it was because he wanted to be sure that he had good news first, but...it wasn't because of that. It was because _he_ was their family. They were _his_ family, all he had, and he wasn't ready to give them up.

So he kept vigil, helping in the only way he could: by being there.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

Tim opened his eyes, wondering where he was. He couldn't remember. All he knew was that things were much clearer than they had been...and his stomach was empty. It had been empty before, but it hadn't mattered. It probably shouldn't matter now. In fact, he was ashamed that he could think of something so banal as food. As optical stimuli finally registered in his brain, he remembered where he was: the hospital...in Tony's room. He had come to visit Tony and he had fallen asleep! He felt the twisting of guilt in his gut, blocking the need for sustenance and he took a deep breath, wishing for the fog again, wanting it to block things out like the recent past. He squeezed his eyes closed once more reaching for unconsciousness, for _something_, anything to distract him.

"Tim? You awake?"

Gibbs. Gibbs was there. He had seen his weakness. What was the point in hiding it? Tim nodded, not wanting to open his eyes and see the understanding, the pity...the condemnation that surely resided in Gibbs' eyes.

"Are you hungry?"

Resolutely, Tim shook his head. Unfortunately, his stomach wasn't in on the plan to maintain his stoicism and it rumbled loudly. Neither of them had the heart to laugh, but, as Tim opened his eyes, they looked at each other...not in the eye. Tim couldn't bring himself to do that.

"Maybe, a little," Tim amended reluctantly, his voice soft with pain.

"I am, too. Let's just go and grab something."

"We can't leave him alone," Tim protested. "We can't just leave."

"We won't be gone long. Selena said that she'd come and get us right away if there's any change. Tim, you need to eat."

Tim swallowed, his throat feeling tighter than it had been before as he looked at Tony. Slowly, he swung his legs over the side of the bed and got onto his wobbly legs. Gibbs was there in an instant.

"Come on, Tim. Eating isn't a crime."

_But weakness..._ Tim's mind began. Gibbs kept talking, a strange flow of words that were all the right ones...but jerky and almost meaningless.

"I think I remember the way to the cafeteria. The food isn't too bad."

_Why is Gibbs doing this? Why is he pretending that he cares?_

"Here we are. I thought I remembered."

Tim followed Gibbs mindlessly through the line, not paying any attention at all to the food Gibbs was getting for him. He was falling steadily back down to where he'd been before...not all the way down. He couldn't fall that far now...but he was near enough. When they sat down at a table, Tim began to eat without noticing what he was eating. He still wouldn't look Gibbs in the eye. He realized how incredibly hungry he was as the food hit his empty stomach. He could have sworn that he felt the acid attack each morsel and break it down at record speed.

"Tim. You need to talk."

_Not we...me._ The roll suddenly tasted like sandpaper. Tim forced it down.

"What is there to say?" Tim asked, trying to forestall any harangue.

"I don't know. That's why you need to talk. You've said next to nothing, and you need to."

"Why? What good can come of it?"

"Talk to me, dang it!" Gibbs snapped. "Tim, do you _realize_ how many people we've..._I've_ lost in the last thirty-six hours? Do you realize that I could still lose more? I don't want to add _you_ to the list. I don't want to watch you allow your useless guilt to eat you away from the inside because that would leave me feeling more helpless than pulling Jenny's body out of the rubble did...and I don't want to feel helpless anymore...all right?"

Gibbs sounded like he was crying, but Gibbs never cried. Tim had rarely seen him exhibit any emotions beyond anger or mild amusement. He couldn't possibly be crying. Gibbs couldn't be saying the words that Tim had heard him say. It wasn't possible.

"Please, Tim. Talk to me."

Tim looked up from his half-eaten roll, certain that he would see that what he had thought he had heard was a mistake. Gibbs would be staring him down with that piercing gaze he used so well. He'd be looking at Tim as if he was an ant under a microscope. Gibbs would be...

Tim looked up...and saw the tears.

Gibbs was crying.


	9. Chapter 9

**Chapter 9**

Tim was flummoxed. He truly had no idea what he was supposed to do. Gibbs wasn't sobbing or anything...but he _was_ crying, silently. It was somehow very wrong for Gibbs to be crying. Tim _wanted_ to cry, but he couldn't seem to let the tears out. Gibbs never cried...until now.

"Boss...uh..." Tim began, not having a clue as to what he was going to say.

Gibbs stood up, grabbed the coffee cup from his tray and walked out of the cafeteria. Tim sat at the table, staring at the empty space where Gibbs had been. He didn't know what to do. Was he supposed to follow him? ...sit here and keep eating? ...something else? He'd been suddenly hurled out of his preoccupation with what had happened. Now...now what? Tentatively, he stood up, grabbing his roll and a couple of other things from the tray. It was ridiculous that he was still hungry...but he was. Then, he squared his shoulders and walked out of the cafeteria, wondering where he'd find Gibbs.

_Maybe I should just let Ducky handle this...I'm no good at...whatever._ Since he and Gibbs had been with Tony, then Ducky must be with Abby. Tim set off for her room, hoping that he wouldn't have to go inside. It didn't matter what she looked like. Tim couldn't bear seeing Abby broken. He walked to the room, located at the intersection of two hallways. He stood staring at the door. _Maybe I won't get Ducky._

"Tim."

Tim looked away from the door down the other hallway. Gibbs was sitting on a chair. Tim hesitantly walked over, still having no clue what to do, what to say.

"Boss...I...I know," Tim said finally.

Gibbs, no longer crying, looked at him. "What do you know?"

"I...I know what you meant...about feeling...helpless." The last word was a mere whisper. "I understand."

"Why?" Gibbs patted the seat beside him. "Why do you understand?"

Tim sat down beside Gibbs, not looking at him. "All I could do..." He swallowed as the memories of the day before washed over him yet again. "All I could do..." he repeated.

Gibbs didn't interrupt or even move.

"I just stood there," Tim said finally. "I watched the building explode...and I didn't do anything."

"There was nothing you could have done."

"When I woke up...I just stood there and looked. I didn't move. I didn't help. There were people around me trying to save the ones inside. I just stood there. I couldn't do anything. I couldn't save anyone. Lara...she was right inside the doors. I couldn't...I just..." Tim felt like his heart was going to explode.

"Lara must have died instantly, Tim. The bomb exploded just about right over her head. There was nothing you could have done."

"You were helping. You were digging people out. I just stood there. All I could do was stand there. I watched...I watched when Michelle died. I just stood there...and then, I left."

"You didn't hear them call the time of death?" There was a hint of something in Gibbs' voice.

"No. They cracked open her chest...there was so much blood. I just...I heard the monitor flat-line. I watched them try to revive her...and I couldn't do anything!"

"Tim, you're not a doctor. There's nothing you _could_ have done."

"No...nothing _good _I could do."

"What do you mean?"

Gibbs' voice was fading into the background again. Tim stared blindly across the hall.

"I killed Ziva."

"No, you didn't." The words were spoken flatly, and Tim knew that Gibbs had no idea what he had done.

"Yes...yes, I did." Tim was still whispering because he knew that the only other option was to scream.

"It was a bomb that killed Ziva. Get that into your head, Tim."

"No...it was me." Tim shook his head and with each shake he felt the tears coming closer and closer, ready to burst out of him. "She...she called me...while I was stuck in traffic. She called and I...I told her how to...to avoid it so that she wouldn't...be...so that she wouldn't be...late for work." Tim began to cry, not silently as Gibbs had done, but with soul-tearing sobs. He leaned forward, his head sinking down to the point that his chin was resting on his chest. His shoulders hunched in pain. Wracked with guilt, his hands moved first to his head and then in tight fists around his torso. "She'd still be alive...it's my fault. I killed Ziva."

Through his tears, Tim thought he heard a sigh.

"I see," Gibbs said. "You're wrong, Tim."

Tim didn't listen. "I killed Ziva. Lara might have been waiting for me just inside the door. Maybe she'd be alive if...if I hadn't been there. I ignored a call from Tony. What if he would have been safe if I'd answered?" Tim began to rock back and forth in agitation.

Gibbs put his arms around Tim and held him tightly. "Why didn't I make Tony get me coffee instead of getting it myself when he spilled it? Why didn't I send Ziva down to help Abby? Tim, these are questions with no answers. Do you know how many times I've wished that someone in the Navy had died yesterday...just so that we could have been safe? One dead person to save my team? Jimmy would have been out there checking the body. Ziva, Tony, you and me...we'd all have been on the scene...safe because someone else died."

"Why? Why did they die?" Tim sobbed. Then, he asked the more important question. "Why wasn't I inside?"

"Because it wasn't your time to go."

"I was on the sidewalk. Why didn't I walk faster? I thought about it. I was going to run...and I didn't. I...I figured there was no point."

"Tim...that doesn't mean it was your fault." Gibbs grabbed Tim by the shoulders and stared him down, forcing Tim to look at him. "You listen to me and get this into your head. You did _not_ kill _anyone_. You did _not_ plant the bombs that destroyed NCIS. Your actions or inactions did _not_ kill anyone. Ziva may have made it to work on time because you were nice enough to give her a tip...but Ziva, being the driver she is, probably would have found a way regardless." Tim gave a small laugh in the midst of his tears. Gibbs was breathing deeply, as if holding back his own tears. "It is _not_ your fault that Abby and Tony are injured. It's not your fault that Ziva is dead. It's not your fault that the people in MTAC and in Intel are dead. It's _not_ your fault, Tim. The people to blame are the ones who planted those bombs. Those are the people to blame. Those people are guilty. Not you. Not me. Not Ducky. Not _any_ of the survivors. We are not to blame. You hear me?"

Tim closed his eyes and nodded.

"Are we clear?"

Tim inhaled shakily. "C-Clear, Boss."

"Good. Now, we're going to go in and visit Abby."

"I can't. I can't do it," Tim protested, looking stricken. "I can't see her, Boss. I can't..." His face crumpled. "I can't see her like that...not when I'm..."

Gibbs stood up, grabbed Tim by the arm, and propelled him to Abby's door. "Abby would want you with her, Tim. She would _not_ want you acting like you're unhurt...because anyone looking at you knows it's a lie."

"Boss...I..."

"No. Get in there." Gibbs opened the door, startling Ducky out of a contemplative pose as he pushed Tim into the room. "Ducky, I need to talk to you," Gibbs said imperiously. "Sit!" he added to Tim.

The two men followed Gibbs' orders and Tim tentatively sat beside Abby's bed, looking as though he was afraid of her. Ducky walked out into the hall.

"What is it, Jethro? Has something happened?"

"Did you see the casualty list?"

"Not yet. I haven't had the heart."

"All right. Could you go and sit with Tony?"

"Is Timothy all right?"

"No. He's not, but I know what's bothering him...specifically."

"What's that?"

"He blames himself for Ziva dying because he helped her avoid the traffic jam that made him late for work."

"Oh dear." Ducky looked back at the room.

"He's let it spiral into blaming himself for Tony and Lara and Ziva and...probably he'd find a way to blame himself for everyone who died." Gibbs sighed again. "I know I can't save everyone, Ducky, but I want to save the ones who can still be saved. I don't want to stand around and wait for them to either sort themselves out or die." Then, he walked off down the hall.

"Jethro! Where are you going?"

"I have something to check!" he tossed back over his shoulder without stopping.

Ducky watched him leave and looked toward Abby's room again. This situation didn't seem to be improving, although he wasn't sure why he thought it would be yet. Echoing Gibbs' sigh, he turned away from Abby's room and headed back to Tony.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

It was like slowly swimming up from the bottom of the ocean...complete with the intolerable pain and pressure that usually accompanied such a foolhardy effort. Then, he wondered why he was comparing what he felt to swimming when he was fairly certain that there had been no water involved in whatever had happened to him.

...or maybe it did. He wasn't in much of a position to know...but he could be if he opened his eyes. Cracking his lids, Tony tried to focus on the shape looming over him. Gradually, he became aware of a droning voice...Ducky!

"Ducky..." he said, trying to sound nonchalant and failing miserably. _I sound terrible._ "Ducky...what's up?" Tony blinked a few times and thought about smiling when Ducky broke off whatever story he'd been telling and grinned broadly.

"Tony! Well...I...I am _speechless_. Welcome back, my boy."

"For...someone who's...speechless, you sure...seem to be saying a lot," Tony gasped. He was surprised by the tears in Ducky's eyes. "What...happened, Ducky?"

"You don't remember?"

"Wouldn't be...asking if I did."

"Maybe you should just rest."

"That bad?"

He blinked again and Ducky finally resolved into the non-blurry Scotsman Tony knew. He could tell Ducky was trying to make a decision.

"Yes, Tony. It is that bad. It's worse."

"What happened?"

"I'm not sure you want to know."

"I'm pretty sure...I don't, but...tell me. Please, Ducky."

"Someone planted a bomb at Headquarters."

"What?" Tony was shocked. "How bad?"

"There's nothing left, Tony. The entire building was leveled."

"No."

"I'm afraid so."

"How many?"

"I don't know the numbers."

"You know something, though, don't you." Tony was starting to really freak out now. "Am I the...am I the only one who survived?"

"No."

"Who made it?"

"Jethro and myself...Timothy, although he was injured. Most of Legal got out, although they lost a few. Cybercrimes was all right. Injured but only a couple died."

"Ziva?" Tony asked, although he knew the answer since Ducky hadn't listed her.

"She's dead."

Tony's mind reeled.

"As is Jimmy and Michelle...Jenny, Cynthia, all of MTAC, all of Intel who was on duty...Lovitz and his team didn't make it. The mail room...most of them died as well."

Even though he knew it was a cliched reaction, Tony felt his mouth drop open and he felt the tears on his cheeks even though he wasn't aware of crying.

"Abby?"

"She's alive."

"That doesn't sound good."

"She's in a coma, but the doctors think she'll make it."

"Who did it?" Tony asked desperately.

"We don't know yet. Everyone is involved."

"Is that where Gibbs is?"

"No. He's here...somewhere. He hasn't left since he got Timothy to come."

"What?"

Ducky's eyes were shadowed. "I will explain later. For now, I had better get your doctor to come and look at you. This is wonderful, Tony. I am so glad you have finally rejoined us." He stood up to leave.

"Wait, Ducky..." Tony protested.

Ducky put a gentle hand on his shoulder. "I am truly grateful, Tony. Every survivor makes us all stronger." Then, he left.

As he lay there waiting, Tony suddenly realized that he hadn't asked about himself. It must have been bad since Ducky seemed so relieved that he was awake. Tony ached in places he hadn't even known existed...like his soul.

_NCIS is gone!_ He said it in his head, but he couldn't believe it. He couldn't believe that the building he'd worked in for seven years was gone. ...and Ziva was dead. Like Kate. Like Paula.

"No..." Tony said and felt the tears again. Too many. Too many had died. The ones who made it...

_We're scarred...for life._


	10. Chapter 10

**Chapter 10**

"Fornell."

"_Gibbs? I was just about to call you. We've found out some things."_

"Like the fact that there was more than one bomb? Three, in fact?"

There was a silence. _"I'm starting to see why people hate you, Jethro."_

"Only now?"

"_Yes, well...you're right, of course. There were three points of origin for the blast. How did you know?"_

"McGee remembered from what he saw of the building exploding."

"_How is he?"_

"Not good."

"_Watch him, Jethro. It's going to be hard enough for him to do it on his own."_

"Who was it, Tobias? Who did you know?"

"_Obvious, aren't I."_ There was a soft sigh. _"Guy from my first team. He was good at pretty much everything. He knew what to do and how to get the job done...until one day he failed to protect a woman from a hitman. She died right in front of him. It tore him apart, but no one realized how bad it was...not until _I_ had to watch him shoot himself in the head in the middle of the office. You don't need that."_

"You're right. I don't. Can you get me a list of the casualties?"

"_Why? What's up?"_

"I think there are some people who shouldn't have been there."

"_I'll bring it over myself. I don't know that we have an official list as yet."_

"I'll take the unofficial list, then. I remember seeing three men I didn't recognize...and I know just about everyone who works...worked there."

There was a significant pause. _"I'll get you the list, Gibbs. Anything that helps us take these guys down."_

"Thanks, Tobias."

"_Watch your man."_

"I will." Gibbs hung up and then went on a search. It was only a desperate wish for something to go right, but he couldn't help hoping that it would. It couldn't undo the damage, the grief, but it might ameliorate it...and it was a task best kept to himself for the moment. If he was wrong it would only hurt everyone else all over again.

And that was the last thing they needed.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

Tim sat on the chair beside Abby's bed, looking anywhere but at her. It caused him a near-physical pain to know how close she was to death. It hurt him to see her so still...so broken. All he could see was the heart monitor. He could hear the ventilator but that was the only sound. It was too quiet.

"I didn't want to come in here, Abby," Tim said softly, still staring at a spot on the wall. "I didn't want to see you. ...that sounds wrong. I did want to see you, but I didn't want to see you like this...so...damaged. I didn't want to see you hurting or in pain. I'm being a wimp, I know. It shouldn't matter what you look like. I should be able to look at you...but I can't. Please, don't be mad at me for that. Please...please, don't die. I don't think I could bear it if you died. I don't know if they told you already, but Ziva is dead..." Tim squeezed his eyes shut, trying to block out the image of her broken hand. That was the only part he had seen of her. "She was supposed to be safe here. This isn't the Middle East. These kinds of things aren't supposed to happen, not here."

Tim leaned forward, resting his head on the railing. He opened his eyes and saw one of Abby's hands laying there. Carefully, he reached out and touched it...then, he cradled it in his own hands, noticing for the first time that someone had changed his bandages.

"I wish...I wish they'd left your wristbands on...or at least your dog collar." He laughed painfully. "You...don't seem like you without them." Tim swallowed. "Oh, Abby...it's just not fair! None of it! Why us? Why now? Why are _you_ lying there and I'm sitting here...talking to you like you can hear me? Why?" The tears were threatening again. "Why did they die? So _many_ people died, Abby. So many. There's nothing left. It feels like...it feels like the whole world is over. It's all been destroyed."

Finally, Tim forced himself to look at her. It took less than a second for him to start crying again at the sight of Abby, her bandaged face, the bruises, the scrapes...above all, the fact that she looked so different from herself. His head dropped back to the railing and he cried.

"How can it come together again? How can NCIS be NCIS again? It can't. It can't...and I don't know if I can...if I could...ever..." Tim couldn't finish his thought. "I don't have anything left, Abby. I feel...I feel like I'm empty, like there's nothing more, nothing to do, nothing to see. If you die...if...I... Please, don't die, Abby. Please."

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

"Well, Mr. DiNozzo..."

"Tony."

"Very well. Tony, I am most impressed."

"Impressed?" Tony asked, his voice barely above a whisper. He was exhausted already. "I can't do anything at all!"

"You're alive. You're cognizant. You're breathing on your own...and based on our examination, you do not appear to have any paralysis. I'm _very_ impressed by that. You should count yourself lucky."

Tony sobered and stared at the blanket covering the worst of the damage. "Lots of people weren't."

Ducky was right there in an instant. "It's true, but I, for one, am glad you are among the survivors."

Tony tried to hold back the tears. He wasn't one who cried. It wasn't macho...but he couldn't help it. He swore. "It's not fair, Ducky. Ziva's dead."

Ducky looked as though he wanted to hug Tony, to comfort him, but he had to content himself with gripping Tony's left forearm, about the only part of him that was uninjured. "Yes. Yes, Ziva _is_ dead, and no, it's _not_ fair. Nothing about this event has been fair. Fairness, I am quite certain, was nowhere in the bombers' minds when they planned this attack." Ducky paused to take a deep breath. Tony looked up and saw tears in his eyes as well. "I want you to work on getting better, my boy. That is _all_ you should worry about. I don't want to lose you as well. We have lost too many to this tragedy. So...if it is too difficult for you to do it voluntarily, I will get Jethro to come in and order you to get better."

Tony swallowed the large lump in his throat. "You think that would help?"

"I think it worked last time. It will work this time if need be."

"Where's McGee?"

"With Abigail, I believe...I hope."

Tony tried to sit up and was prevented both by Ducky and by the doctor who was still examining him. In the moment, Tony had forgotten about him.

"What do you mean, Ducky? What's wrong with McGee?"

"He is...not doing well, Tony."

"You mean–?" Tony couldn't finish. He wasn't sure he could stand to know that another of teammates was going to die.

"No, nothing like that. I swear. He _was_ injured, but he will heal from his wounds."

"Then, what is it?" Tony asked. "Come on, Ducky. McGee's my...my _friend_. He's not just my coworker. Tell me what's wrong."

"Very well. Timothy is...grieving in an unhealthy manner. He was outside NCIS when it blew up and he blames himself for Ziva's death."

"Why? Why would he do something so...stupid?"

"Because he gave her information that allowed her to miss the traffic jam which saved his life. In his current state, he sees no difference between himself and the bombers. To him, it is his fault that she was there and thus, he killed her. Because of the scale of the destruction, his mental state was not accurately ascertained and it was allowed to fester for nearly a day. Now...Jethro has tried to speak to him. I have tried to speak to him. I don't think we've gotten through to him yet."

"Figures," Tony said, leaning his head back. He was so tired. "Probie always was too keen on taking responsibility."

"Yes. Well, you won't be helping him if you worry yourself sick. I suggest that you rest. Perhaps the next time Timothy comes, you will be able to convince him of the things we cannot."

Tony yawned and winced. "No pressure."

"No, Tony. There is no pressure. We will do our level best and _you_ will rest and recover. That is the best way, the _only_ way, for you to help Timothy right now." Ducky patted Tony's cheek gently and then nodded. "Sleep, my boy. Get well. Doctor's orders."

"You're an ME," Tony yawned, but his eyes drifted closed.

"I'm still a doctor."

"Right...Ducky..." Tony felt himself drifting away and his last conscious thought was that if Tim decided to kill himself, Tony would kill him first.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

After Tony fell asleep, Ducky let himself out, needing a break from everything. It was hard to be required to help everyone else feel better. He himself had lost in this tragedy as well. He remembered his call to Jimmy's mother and wished he could forget it. In fact...

He took out his phone.

"_Fornell."_

"Ah, yes. Agent Fornell."

"_Who is this?"_

"Ducky...with NCIS."

"_Dr. Mallard! You're about the last person I was expecting to call."_

"Jethro being the first?"

There was a laugh. _"Yes. Anything you need?"_

"Yes, as a matter of fact. I was wondering if you could tell me where all the bodies pulled from NCIS have been taken."

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

A man on a mission pursues that mission until it is completed. Gibbs was that man. Fornell's casualty list had given him more than one piece of important information. He couldn't pretend that this would make everything better. It wouldn't, but it would _help_. Even one piece of good news would help ameliorate the unending bad news. As he strode through the hospital, he felt himself get just a little excited. It was a foolish feeling seeing as he of all people knew that loss never healed quickly...if at all. Still...

He stopped at the door to a surgical recovery room. Quietly, he pushed open the doors and walked in, looking around at the beds to find the goal of his search. Beside one of the beds, a couple stood, looking down. With more than usual tact, he approached them.

"Excuse me," he said softly. There was something about the room that made impossible to do anything but whisper.

One of them looked at him. "Yes?"

"My name is Agent Gibbs. I work at NCIS. Could I speak with you?"

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

It was a morgue...which was to be expected...and one looked a lot like any other: sterile. This one was full of bodies. People from NCIS. Ducky knew that. He knew most of them by name...and yet, he was only there for one of them. It wasn't that he didn't care about the others, but he hadn't had the chance to say goodbye. Silently, he walked over to one of the drawers and pulled it open. There was a body under a sheet. A small smile graced his lips and he wiped away a few tears before uncovering the face.

"Ah, Mr. Palmer," he said, his words merely an exhale of sound. "I am so sorry that I was not able to come before now. It was wrong of me. I apologize."

Jimmy lay on the slab, silent. Where he had seemed to hear Kate talking to him after her death, Jimmy spoke no words at all.

"I must also apologize that I will not be able to do your autopsy. Perhaps it is because I cannot do it in my own...in _our_ domain. Perhaps it is just because it would be too much like doing an autopsy on my own child...of which I have none. Perhaps that is why you are not speaking to me. Only the dead upon whom I work talk to me." Ducky sighed deeply, all confidence...all his strength gone. "Many have said it, Mr. Palmer, and now I add my voice to it as well: It is _not_ fair. It is not fair that someone like you, so kind, with so much potential, that you should die now...and I live. I can only suppose that there is a reason for it because the alternative is too painful to bear. I can only hope that there is some measure of light in this...this darkness because otherwise we, all of us who have survived, we will all drown in our sorrow."

The morgue was silent and still. None of the dead revealed their secrets. Laying on his back, Jimmy's body looked almost pristine. Only a hint of charred skin and hair on his neck, running around to the back of his head showed the damage that had killed Jimmy. Ducky cried silently for his friend. In his grief, he put a hand out and grasped Jimmy's shoulder, feeling how cold it was.

"Goodbye, my friend. A part of me would like to give up, would like to give _in_ to the act of terrorism, allow it to destroy the pleasure I find in life, to mar the joy that comes from the work I do...but I will _not_. Your death would be pointless if I did. If I allow myself to give into my grief, I will be handing the victory to your murderers...and I will _not_ do that, Mr. Palmer. I will not dishonor your death by quitting."

Still, his tears fell in silence, but Ducky was not ashamed of the tears. Crying was a way of demonstrating a feeling of loss. He _had_ lost, and he acknowledged it.

"Jimmy, you would have been a great doctor...and, if I may say, an even better ME. I wish that I could have seen what you would have chosen. I will not have that privilege, but I will honor your memory, although it will not be the same without you assisting me...and..." Ducky smiled, even though he cried. "...and I hope you will save me seat beside you." He slowly drew the sheet back over Jimmy's face. "Goodbye, Jimmy. Go with God, Mr. Palmer." He closed the drawer and walked out of the morgue, somehow strengthened by his one-sided conversation.

He would not allow any more damage to be done by those who would tear them down.


	11. Chapter 11

**Chapter 11**

"Oh, yes. I have heard about you, Agent Gibbs," the man said. "What did you need?"

"I just..." Gibbs stopped and looked beyond the couple to the silent figure in the bed. "I wanted to know how she was doing."

Jie Wong Lee looked down at her daughter and put a hand on her head. "Michelle is alive. The doctors told us that they were nearly ready to give up, but her heart started beating again on its own. I could have told him that she would not be taken so easily."

"We thought she was dead," Gibbs said. "That's why no one was here before."

"Why?" Richard Lee asked.

"One of my team saw her in the emergency room...when her heart was not beating and he thought she was dead. He was injured himself at the time and not thinking clearly. There was so much chaos..."

"She may never wake up," Richard said softly. "She was down for a long time, but there's a chance."

"There's always a chance," Gibbs replied. "Where there's life there's hope." He shoved his hands in his pockets and hit the ring box. He'd forgotten he still had it. "I won't disturb you much longer...but I have something."

"What is it?"

"Were you aware of your daughter's relationship with Jimmy Palmer?"

Jie smiled and nodded. "Yes. They were getting very close. Michelle loved to talk about him."

"Did you know that they were planning on getting engaged?"

Jie and Richard looked at each other for a long time; then, Jie asked, "Did Jimmy die?"

"Yes. He protected her from the explosion, took the brunt of it himself." Gibbs paused and pulled the box out of his pocket. "I don't know what you want to do with it, but..." He held it out. "...we think Jimmy was in the act of proposing when the bomb went off."

Jie's eyes filled with tears as she reached out and took the box, the delicate ring nestled inside.

"We'll hold onto it for her. Michelle can decide...when she's ready."

"I understand."

"Thank you for coming, Agent Gibbs. I am glad to know she wasn't forgotten by her colleagues."

"No," Gibbs said, shaking his head firmly, "she wasn't forgotten. No one has been forgotten."

"I'm glad," Richard said.

Silently, Gibbs shook their hands, and with a last look at Michelle, he left the Lees.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

The door opened quietly, but there was no need for silence. The woman lying in the bed was far beyond being awakened by noisy entrances...and the man in the room was awake. He was sitting in the corner, as far from the bed as possible, the palms of his hands over his eyes, but he was most definitely awake.

"Timothy, may I speak with you?" Ducky asked softly.

Tim shrugged. "Sure, why not?"

"Then, come with me."

"Where?"

"Tony is awake. I would like you to come with me to speak with him."

"Why?"

"Because you need to be there."

"What about Abby?" Tim asked, gesturing hopelessly at the bed. "I can't leave her alone."

"She's scheduled for an MRI, and the doctors have to examine her. She won't be alone." Ducky found it interesting that Tim would insist on staying when he so obviously didn't want to be there. Why _that_ was, he wasn't sure. "Please, Timothy. Tony is awake, and we need to speak with him."

"Why?"

Ducky sighed. "Timothy, go. Just go."

It was a sign of how broken Tim was that he didn't argue or protest any further. He just stood and walked out, looking for all the world as if he had a great weight on his shoulders. Ducky watched him and then squared his own shoulders. This was untenable and he was not willing to let it proceed any further.

"We're getting them all back, Abigail. Everyone who can is going to make it. I promise you."

Abby didn't respond, but Ducky smiled at her and then walked out of the room, searching for the other survivor.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

Tentatively, Tim stepped into Tony's room. All was quiet. Tony was asleep. Really asleep this time, not just unconscious. Tim walked over to the bed, but, as with Abby, he only wanted to get as far away from him as possible. He didn't speak, just sat silently and wished this was all over.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

"Jethro!"

"Ducky!" Gibbs looked too happy...meaning that he didn't look completely depressed.

"Where have you been?"

"Agent Lee is alive!"

"What?"

"I found her. They just got her out of surgery and she's alive...although she might not wake up."

"How is that possible? I thought Timothy had seen her die."

"He did...but he didn't stay long enough to see her heart start beating again. She's in critical condition and her parents don't have much hope, but she's alive right now." Now, he sighed. "Jimmy saved her."

Ducky nodded in acceptance of that. "Good. It is nice to have some good news for once." Gibbs started to walk away...toward the exit. "Wait! Where are you going?"

"I need to check some things, Ducky." Gibbs waved a sheaf of papers with photos on them. "There are a few bodies on the list I don't recognize. I want to check them out and tell Fornell who they should be focusing on."

"No, Jethro!" Ducky said firmly.

"What? We need to find out who did this, Ducky."

"Yes, but _you_ do not. You could just as easily call Agent Fornell and tell him who you would like him to investigate. You do not need to run all over DC to look at the bodies. There are many people involved in the investigation. You are not needed out there. You can't leave us here, Jethro."

"Ducky..."

But Ducky wasn't having it. "Jethro, you left Timothy all alone here before. You left him to wake up alone!"

"He was in surgery, Ducky. There was nothing I could do."

"You could have been here! I understand why you felt you had to leave, but don't you understand how devastating that was for Timothy? So far as he knew, everyone had died. No one was here to tell him that there were any survivors. He's _been_ alone ever since. He's embraced that desolation as something he deserves."

"Ducky."

"I don't blame you for that, Jethro, but why, oh why did you feel it necessary to leave? You weren't the only one searching. Bodies would have been found without you. Survivors would have been found without you. ...and yet, you left the one person you _knew_ had survived, someone who _needed_ you. Why are you insisting on leaving now?"

"You left, too, Ducky."

"I left for one hour to...tell a friend good-bye, Jethro. Then, I returned. How long will this trek take you? One hour? Two? Five? Or did you plan on coming back at all?"

"Ducky, I don't understand what's the matter."

Ducky could see that Gibbs didn't get it, but he could also see that Gibbs was fleeing his grief, as he had before, and Ducky would _not_ allow him to do that again. Not this time.

"I _cannot_ deal with this on my own, Jethro. You ran away to Mexico before and we muddled through because we were all there to support each other. You can't run away this time. Abigail is in a coma. Tony is still in serious condition. Timothy...he needs mental support that I am trying to give, but I can't do it on my own. He needs you. He needs us all. Tony needs you here. We _must_ deal with this together because there are too few of us to deal with it alone. We need to be together because _we_ are the survivors. You and I are the only ones who got through unscathed and we are honor-bound to help those who are not. Tony is mourning for Ziva's death and for the deaths of all who were lost. Timothy is still stuck in his cycle of guilt and trauma."

"Psych is–"

"He needs _friends_, not a chat with someone who knows nothing about him. Yes, therapy will certainly be needed later on, but right now, he needs to know that he has not been left alone again. He needs to know that _you_ have not left him alone again."

Gibbs was still. There were very few people who could lecture Gibbs and get away with it. Ducky was one of those people.

"You need to confront the fact that even finding who is responsible won't solve everything. I know you know it, but you need to admit it. You need to mourn with us. We _need_ you to mourn with us. Please, Jethro, don't leave us here. Like it or not, we need you."

The expression on Gibbs' face was one of a man trying to deny what he knows is true. He stared at Ducky for a few seconds and finally nodded.

"You're right, Ducky. I need to call Fornell. I'll be up."

"Thank you, Jethro."

"Thank_ you_, Ducky."

"I'm just fulfilling my role as the kindly British doctor."

"You're Scottish and you're not being very kind."

"Killing with kindness," Ducky said and smiled sadly. "We'll be in Tony's room, waiting for you."

"I'll be there. I promise."

Ducky simply nodded and walked away. Gibbs would be there. It wouldn't automatically make things right. It couldn't, but it could help...and that was what they really needed.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

When Ducky returned to Tony's room, he found Tim sitting rigidly in the chair beside Tony's bed, staring steadfastly at the slumbering figure. There was a susurrant sound that he only belatedly realized was Tim's voice. He couldn't hear the words, but he saw Tim's lips moving.

"Timothy?"

"He's asleep."

"Yes, he is, thank heaven."

Tim shook his head. "There's nothing left, you know. Everything is...gone."

"No, it's not, Timothy. It might seem like it, but it's not."

"This isn't fair. None of it. Not Tony, not Abby, not Ziva, not any of it. It's _not_ fair!" Tim said. "I don't care what..." He stopped and looked down as a hand touched his. "Hi, Tony," he said very softly.

"Hey, Probie," Tony breathed. "Long time...no see."

"Yeah." Tim looked away, giving Tony a perfect opportunity to understand what Ducky meant by unhealthy grieving.

"Hey, now...I know I'm...not much to look at...right now, but you gotta...admit that I'm going to be scoring...with the ladies."

Tim closed his eyes, two tears escaping before he could stop them. Tony watched as Tim forced himself to smile. He could tell that Tim did _not_ feel like smiling.

"Yeah, Tony."

"Ducky told me...about Ziva," Tony added seriously, watching as Ducky patted Tim's shoulder and smiled at him. "It sucks."

"Yeah," Tim said again.

"You know what sucks even more?"

"No...cable?" Tim asked, with that same painful smile.

"No. Seeing you beating yourself...up about it. That's worse."

Tim shifted awkwardly and didn't look at Tony. "People are dead, Tony. A lot of people are dead."

"Yeah, I know."

"Why not me?" Tim asked, looking at Tony and then at Ducky...and then at Gibbs who had just stepped in the door. "Why not me?"

Gibbs had known how Tim felt before, but Tim's question meant more this time than it had the last time he'd asked. Saying that it wasn't his time wouldn't be enough...maybe nothing would be, but Ducky was right. They needed to deal with this together. He shut the door behind him and walked to the bed. Maybe some good news would help...maybe not, but at least he'd be here this time.


	12. Chapter 12

**Chapter 12**

"What do you want me to say, Tim?" Gibbs asked, finally. "That it's your fault? That you should have done something different? Do you want me to tell you that you _could_ have done something different and changed what happened? I can't do that. I can't tell you _why_ or _how_ this happened or why you weren't inside before the bombs went off." He pulled a chair over and sat down on the other side of Tony's bed.

"For that matter," Ducky interjected, "why was it that they chose the day I was home with my mother?"

"Why was I down with Abby instead of up with Ziva?" Tony asked, his voice very soft.

"I don't know! That's the problem! I don't know!" Tim said, standing abruptly and walking to the window. "I just don't know," he whispered.

"What don't you know, Timothy?" Ducky asked gently.

"I don't know anything anymore. There's nothing to know, really. Everything...it's all gone."

"It's not gone."

"Look at how many people have died. Look at the building. Look at it all. Destroyed. Ruined."

"Tim," Gibbs said, "you were wrong."

"About what?"

"About Agent Lee. She's not dead."

That forced Tim to turn around. "What? But I saw–"

"She _was_ dead, but just before they called time of death, her heart started again on its own." Gibbs was rewarded with a small spark of interest in Tim's dull eyes. Tony, if he had been able, would have been sitting up. As it was, his mouth was open at this unexpected blessing. "They don't know how much permanent damage was done, but she's alive."

"Michelle is alive?"

"Yeah. Her parents are with her right now."

The spark looked like it might grow before it sputtered and died. "But Ziva's still dead?" Tim asked.

"Yes. She is."

"I saw her hand," Tim said, staring at his own.

"I know."

"I couldn't even stay to see them pull her out. I ran away. She was there and I left her."

Locked in a cycle was a good way of describing Tim's thought processes. Every time there seemed to be some progress, just a bit of movement toward seeing the world as it really was and not as evidence of every little thing Tim had done wrong, the wheel would turn again and Tim would be back into the rut of seeing himself as worthless, the world as empty, and life as not worth living. In normal circumstances, it would just be ego, but now, that was compounded with Tim's tendency to think the worst of himself anyway.

"Probie, she was dead! It doesn't matter."

"Doesn't _matter_?" Tim asked incredulously. "I didn't _know_ she was dead! I didn't even know it was her! I left because I...I was too weak to see who else had died. I was afraid to see and I ran away!"

"I didn't want to be there, either, Tim," Gibbs said. "I didn't want to be there when I saw them pull out Jenny's body, when they found Cynthia."

"You didn't want to...but you still did it, Boss. I didn't. I let everyone else just do it on their own." Tim's head was hanging, his shoulders hunched in shame. "And I still want to. I want to run and not have to see any of this. I want to run and forget it even happened."

"So do I, Probie," Tony said. "I can't even remember most of it...and I don't want it to have happened."

"No one _wants_ this to have happened, Timothy," Ducky said. "But it _has_ happened. We have to accept it and rebuild...not give in."

Tim looked from one man to the next.

"I don't see anything worth rebuilding," Tim said finally. Then, he turned and walked out of the room.

"You were saying, Duck?" Gibbs asked.

"He's bad, Ducky...really bad. I didn't realize."

Ducky shook his head. "I will bring him back. It's not going to be solved all at once, Jethro, as you well know." He sighed. "Wait for us." Then, he followed Tim out of the room.

Luckily, as he'd hoped, Tim hadn't gone very far once he'd left...only as far as the nearest waiting room. Tim was sitting on one of the benches, his hands covering his face. Ducky came and sat down beside him.

"You left rather abruptly, Timothy," Ducky said kindly.

"I'm sorry, Ducky. I shouldn't have left, but I just..."

"Felt overwhelmed?" Ducky asked, rubbing his back.

"I guess."

"Timothy, sit up, please. Sit up and look at me. You have nothing to be ashamed of. Nothing."

Tim did not sit up. "But I keep running away. It's all I can think of to do."

"That's nothing to be ashamed of. Now, sit up, please."

Tim did so, obviously reluctantly.

"What do you see when you think of what has happened, Timothy?"

Tim was silent for a few minutes and Ducky didn't push. He just waited, wishing that he could forcibly get Tim to see the truth...because the truth was bad enough without a skewed perspective.

"I see Lara," Tim said finally, staring at his hands rather than Ducky. "I could only tell it was her because of her clothes...she was...torn apart."

"I see Jimmy," Ducky said, frankly. "Since learning of his death, I have imagined his last moments, what he must have felt, what he saw...but do you know what the difference is between you and me, Timothy?"

Tim swallowed and laughed. "About thirty years?"

Ducky smiled at the attempt. "Well, yes, but more than mere age, I can see past the explosion. Can you?"

Tears dripped from Tim's eyes onto his hands. "I wish I could, Ducky. I've tried. I just can't. I can't see anything good. All I can see is...death and destruction. I don't know why. I just can't."

"Do you trust me, Timothy?"

"Yes." The answer was immediate.

"And Jethro?"

"Of course." The agreement came just as quickly.

"And Tony?" Ducky raised his eyebrows.

"Even Tony," Tim said, a small smile on his face.

"Then...if you can't see it for yourself, will you trust _us_ that there is something more?"

"I don't understand."

"Children often rely on their parents for truth when they are young. They learn that the world is round, that they should not take candy from strangers, that they should share and be kind. They don't learn the reasons why. Most of our core beliefs are formed as children, Timothy. We learn the things that most define us when we are too young to verify the axioms taught to us empirically. We _trust_ that our parents know what they are talking about. Do you think you can trust us in the same way?"

Tim looked at Ducky fully and didn't answer.

"I will not try to force you to see the possibilities of the future, Timothy. For one thing, I doubt I would succeed against such a stubborn mind as you possess. But if you could just try to trust us..."

"If I do...what does that mean?" Tim asked. The darkness was still present in his eyes, but there was a hope burning faintly in the darkness. It was a _desire_ to believe. He didn't _want_ to feel this way, but he couldn't, at the moment, fathom any other way to feel. It was better because he hadn't given up, just lost his way...hopefully, temporarily.

"It does mean quite a bit of effort on your part, I'm afraid, but seeing as you are a hard worker in any case, work shouldn't be the problem."

"What do I need to do?"

"You have to act like you believe it."

Tim sagged, the hope dying in his eyes. "I can't, Ducky. I've _tried_!"

"No, Timothy. You have tried to pretend that your problems aren't really problems, that they are actually a sign of your weakness. What you need to do is do the kinds of things you would do if you _did_ believe there was a chance for things to get better. You don't have to deny your feelings. You shouldn't, in fact, because that will only make things worse. We all know that it is hard for you. ...and that is _not_ weakness. No one knows how they will react to such an event until it happens. And for many, it never does."

"How come you can be so calm, Ducky?"

"This is not the first time I have lost comrades, Timothy. As you say, I have at least thirty years on you. I have faced things like this before. I also deal with death on a daily basis. I am much better equipped to be calm." Ducky now smiled sadly. "Just don't mistake my calm for a lack of grief. I am grieving deeply. As deeply as you in my own way...as are we all."

Tim took a deep breath. "What do I have to do?"

"Come back to Tony's room with me and allow us to be with you. Then, go and see Abby...and tell her about something beautiful."

"Something beautiful?"

"Yes. Abby would love to hear something like that from you. You haven't told her everything, I'm sure. Tell her about something beautiful you have seen. It need not be recent."

"Why?" Tim asked, looking nothing less than pitiful, as if Ducky had asked him to write a dissertation on the subject.

"Just trust me, as I asked."

"Okay. Okay, Ducky. I'll try."

"Good. Now, let's return to our friends."

"Okay." Tim stood up and looked down at Ducky. "I don't feel like..."

"You're worth the effort, Timothy. Every human being is."

Tim's eyes filled with tears and Ducky knew he was seeing the loss of human life again in his head.

"Take a moment, Timothy. Come in when you're ready," Ducky said and walked back to Tony's room. When he stepped inside, he saw Tony leaning back, his eyes heavy-lidded, nearly asleep, and Gibbs talking softly to him.

"What did I miss?" Ducky asked, keeping his voice soft so as not to startle them.

"We were talking about making sure Ziva got back to Israel."

"Are you sure she wished to go?" Ducky asked.

To his surprise, Tony nodded firmly. "We were..." he hesitated and looked behind Ducky and then at the ME. Ducky gestured for him to continue. "...we were talking about it just a few days ago. Remember Alvaro Perez? He was from someplace... in Mexico but had become a US citizen. All his family was still there, and because he'd never married, he'd wanted to be buried back there."

"I remember," Tim said. "Ziva said she understood why he felt that way."

Tony nodded, spilling a few tears. "We talked about it after work, about where we'd...want to be buried, if we died. I asked her if she wanted to go back to Israel."

"She wanted that?" Ducky asked when Tony faltered.

"Yes." Tony had to pause again, both for breath and because of his own tears. "She said that Israel was her home. It was in her heart."

Tim nodded silently. "We'll need to...call her...her father."

"I'm going to do that, Tim," Gibbs said, one eye on Tim's hands which were clenched tightly in his lap and his other on Tony lying in his bed. One injured physically, the other mentally. Both in pain...although both were trying to deny it.

A silence fell on the group, full of pain, but not awkward. It was a way of grieving together without words. They stayed that way until Tony fell asleep again. Then, Ducky gave Tim a look and Tim nodded, standing silently and leaving.

"What was that?"

"Just an assignment for our young friend."

"Assignment?"

Ducky looked at Tony, but he was asleep...as he probably should have been before. "There have been many studies supporting the idea that if you smile, even when you are feeling terrible, your mood often improves. I asked Timothy to trust us and to do the kinds of things he would do if he believed, as I do, that there is a future for us all. He has gone to speak to Abigail, to tell her something good. If he can bring his mind around to beautiful things, even from the past, it may give him hope for the future...and, at the very least, it will keep him with us, rather than allowing him to withdraw both physically and mentally."

"I hope you're right, Ducky," Gibbs said, standing up to stretch his legs.

Ducky stood as well. "Trust me, Jethro."

Gibbs walked to Ducky and hugged him. "Thanks, Ducky."

"You're welcome."

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

The room was quiet, and Abby looked as sad and empty and still as ever, but Tim walked in and sat down, Ducky's instructions firmly entrenched in his mind. He reached out with his bandaged hands and picked up one of Abby's equally-damaged hands. Gently, he cradled it before bringing it to his lips and kissing it lightly.

"Abby," he said and his throat closed up, "I remember once when I was young...maybe twelve..." Tears poured down his cheeks. "...Mom and Dad got this idea into their heads that Sarah and I needed to see more of the country. It was Christmas break. Snow everywhere, and Dad decided that we would go on a road trip." Tim laughed through his tears, remembering the past. "I was _not_ happy about it. I wanted to stay home and do regular Christmas things, but Mom and Dad were in agreement. So we packed up and starting driving west. I kept asking where we were going, but Dad wouldn't answer. He just said it was a surprise." Tim stopped and looked at Abby. With one hand, he brushed a strand of hair away from her forehead before continuing. "When we got to Cooke City, I realized we were going to Yellowstone National Park...in the _winter_! I thought Dad was nuts and I only wanted to go home. We got as far as Mammoth and the road was closed to regular cars. I thought we'd just find somewhere fun, but no, Dad _had_ to keep going. He reserved us seats on these weird snow vans, like big snow machines, and we went down to Old Faithful and saw a bunch of the geysers."

The room was so quiet and Tim was trying so desperately to get to the beautiful moment, but it was taking too long.

"There was...this place...uh...Midway Geyser Basin. It was so...it so beautiful, Abby. The steam from all the geysers and the hot springs was everywhere...and the colors...they were amazing. It was like...like being on another planet. You'd be walking through the steam clouds and suddenly, there was this splash of color, orange and red...yellow, blue...all surrounded by snow. It was so beautiful. I can still see it when I think about it, and it's been twenty years."

Tim wanted to scream in pain, but he didn't.

"It was the best...best vacation _ever_. Of course, after my dad was paralyzed, things like that were harder to do, but...that was it. I don't know why I never told you about it before." Tim stopped talking and looked at her. Her hand was limp in his. She didn't move. "Can...can you hear me, Abby? Please, hear me, Abby."

But Abby didn't move.


	13. Chapter 13

**Chapter 13**

_Four days later..._

Tobias Fornell had never been closer to wanting to go off half-cocked and rip someone's head off as he did right as this moment. It was a good thing someone else was in the interrogation room. He was experienced enough to know when he didn't have himself in control. Instead, he watched as the head of a supposed "peaceful protestor" group laid out his justification for not only sending off three of his own followers to blow themselves up (without their knowledge, apparently) but also for blowing up a federal building.

"...bring the war home. We showed the country what the war is like. It doesn't matter what happens in the Middle East. It's too far away. The war isn't over there. It's here! People have to start dying here before the war will end!"

It made him sick. The families of those three men were in a state of shock. They hadn't known what their husbands were doing. They hadn't realized they were becoming terrorists.

"Why terrorism?"

"This isn't terrorism. It's waking people up!"

There was a strange sound and Tobias realized it was his own teeth grinding.

"You all right, sir?"

"I'm fine. Tell Sacks to finish up. I can't stomach anymore of this crap." Then, he turned on his heel and walked away. When he got to his desk, his phone rang.

"Fornell!" he barked.

"_Tobias."_

"Gibbs." Tobias took a deep breath and let it out slowly. "Sorry about that. Just finished interviewing the mastermind."

"_You found them? For certain?"_

"Yeah. Looks that way. Scum."

"_But you got them?"_

"Yeah, we got 'em, Jethro. It was all I could do not to shoot them one by one."

Four days had changed Gibbs beyond words. He just sighed. No answering anger. _"We're sending Ziva to Israel today. I thought you might like to be there."_

That cooled him off all at once. "Yeah, Jethro. I would."

"_We've cleared everything with the Israeli embassy, and her father was grateful for our efforts."_

"Sounds pretty impersonal."

"_It is. He's supposed to be coming to...to get her, himself."_

"I'll be there, Jethro. I promise."

"_Thanks, Tobias."_

"DiNozzo?"

"_Slowly but surely. They're pretty sure he's going to make a full recovery...but Abby's still in a coma."_

"How's Agent McGee?"

"_Still alive."_

"That's something."

"_Yeah...but not enough."_ Gibbs hung up.

Tobias sat down with a deep sigh.

"Done, Fornell," Sacks said, shortly.

"Any problems?"

"No. He freely admits it. The evidence we gathered points to him. Shouldn't be too hard. We'll probably have to have a psychological evaluation."

"Yeah."

"Sir?"

"Yeah?"

Sacks actually looked uncomfortable.

"Ron, what is it?"

"Some of the guys...and I...we were wondering what's being done for NCIS."

"I think they're dealing with a lot of it in-house."

"We were thinking...and some of the agents in the other agencies agree..."

"For heaven's sake, Sacks, spit it out!"

"We wanted to make a memorial for them. Nothing big. I know they're doing their own, but to show...our support for them."

Tobias smiled. "How did you get roped into being spokesman, Sacks?"

"I lost the coin toss."

"Sounds like a good idea. Make sure you all coordinate it together. It might not be a bad idea to talk it over with Deputy Director Vance. He's probably setting up the NCIS memorial service. You don't want to step on anyone's toes."

"No, sir."

"All right. Go ahead. I have someplace to be. Let me know if anything comes up."

"Yes, sir."

Tobias nodded and stood up again. He hated these kinds of things, but he also had to be there for them. Saying good-bye was important. Being there for those saying good-bye was more important.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

Tim, Ducky, and Gibbs stood all together, waiting silently in the foyer of the Israeli embassy. Ziva's body had been transferred to the embassy the day before. They were going to accompany her and her father to the airport and say their final good-byes. Eli David had requested their presence before leaving to the airport and now, they were waiting. Tony had fought tooth-and-nail to come, but the doctors had refused to let him leave the hospital. He was healing, but he was still much too weak to do more than sit up in bed. It had been the hardest thing to leave him there, knowing he wouldn't get to say good-bye.

"Agent Gibbs, Dr. Mallard, Agent McGee," a soft voice called. The three men stood up. "Director David will see you now."

"Thank you," Gibbs said. Together they walked down the hallway to a small conference room, brightly lit. Director David sat at one end of the table. He looked lost in thought, staring out one of the windows to an inner courtyard.

"Director?" Ducky asked.

Ziva's father showed no sign of surprise as he turned to them. He gestured for them all to sit.

"Where is Agent DiNozzo and Ms. Sciuto?" he asked in a voice only slightly accented.

"Tony is still too ill to leave the hospital, I'm afraid," Ducky answered. "He was hoping to come. ...and Abigail is still in a coma."

Eli nodded in understanding. "Yes, you had many losses, did you not?"

"Too many," Tim said in a soft voice, he was staring in Eli's general direction, but his gaze was directed at the table.

"I am sure that even one would have been too many, Agent McGee."

"Yes."

"I wish to thank you for making so many arrangements for my daughter. The ambassador told me that you have done everything to the best of your ability, in spite of your own pains."

"She was like family, Director," Gibbs said. "We couldn't have done anything less."

"She felt the same way about you all."

A silence descended. The only showing any sign of overt distress was Tim, and even that was muted.

"Ziva had a will, as many do in situations such as she was often in. She wished to give something to you all in the event of her passing." Eli smiled unexpectedly. "I must admit that I did not know my daughter could be so...whimsical, although I am certain these things will mean something to all of you. ...but I think she would have wished for you all to be together so far as is possible. If you do not mind, could we do this at the hospital? I would like to be able to speak to Agent DiNozzo myself."

"Yes, that would be fine," Gibbs said. "In fact, I think that would be...a godsend for Tony."

"Thank you. In that case, let us go now. If Agent McGee would accompany me?"

Tim jumped a little at the request and finally looked directly at Eli. "Uh...yes...Director. I will...Boss?"

"That's fine, McGee," Gibbs said, looking at Eli. "We'll see you there." He walked out the main door with Ducky, leaving Tim and Eli alone.

"This way, Agent McGee."

"Yes, sir."

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

Tim didn't speak unless spoken to on the way over to the hospital, and Eli didn't speak at all for the first stretch, just looking at the man sitting across from him.

Then...

"I remember the first bombing I experienced. One of my close friends was killed by a suicide bomber in the marketplace. I could not understand why someone would kill so many innocents without regard for who they were or what they wanted to do with their lives. It did not seem fair."

Tim nodded, still looking anywhere but at Eli.

"It was not fair. I knew it. It was not right, and I decided that I would do all I could to stop it from happening. Unfortunately, there is only so much one man can do...and it is not enough to stop the thousands of nameless faces who harbor hatred in their hearts. Do you understand, Agent McGee?"

"Yes."

"You were a friend to my daughter, yes?"

"Yes."

"Good friends?"

"Yes."

"How good?"

Tim shrugged, not really listening. "Pretty good friends."

"I hear that you helped her the day she died."

A tear escaped down Tim's cheek. He was still pale, his face lined with pain.

"I tried to," he whispered.

"You found her."

"Yes."

"Agent McGee."

"Yes?"

"Thank you."

Another tear and Tim's Adam's apple bobbed as he swallowed. "For what?"

"For seeing my daughter, for understanding her. We are not the most...open people. It is easy to mistake our detachment for a lack of emotion. She spoke of you warmly, and I believe that she treasured your friendship."

"Th-Thank you...sir," Tim said, drawing a shaky breath.

"Agent McGee, I could not save my friend. It was sheer luck that I was on the other side of the street. You could not have saved my daughter. She did not expect it of you, and she would not think any less of you for living...but she would have understood your guilt...as I do. Every person who dies from meaningless hatred is a person we feel we should have saved. There is nothing we can do until people change themselves. We cannot change them."

Tim nodded and saw the hospital coming up. "We're almost there," he said.

"Yes, I see."

Neither of them spoke again.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

Tony was sitting up in bed when the two men arrived, one carrying a box. Tony was immeasurably improved, but still that only meant that he could breathe without sounding like he was dying and he could stay awake for more than a half an hour at a time. His spleen was functioning...nominally. It was too soon to tell if it would function as it should. For now, Tony's immune system was essentially being bolstered by a series of daily injections, and he had been given vaccinations...anything to keep him from becoming infected.

"Agent DiNozzo, I am Eli David."

"Director David," Tony said nodding.

"If you would all please sit." There was a pause and some shuffling as each person in the room found a chair. "My daughter left small items for you all...or not-so-small items. I do not know the significance of every one of them. I can only assume that you will. She updated her will often, and as it happens, she had done so only a month ago. Some of the items cannot be given to their intended recipients as they are dead as well."

There was no response, and Eli simply continued.

"'For Dr. Donald Mallard, my teapot to replace the one I broke when your mother's dogs startled me. I am still relieved that I did not kill them.'"

Ducky's mouth twisted as he both laughed and cried at the same time.

"When did she have tea with you, Ducky?" Tony asked curiously.

"Years ago, the day she saved our lives from that woman who was trying to steal Civil War memorabilia. In thanks, I invited her to my home, but I'm afraid she was still rather keyed up and I forgot to warn her about the corgies."

There were some soft chuckles as Ducky reached out to take the colorful teapot from Eli's hands. It had geometric designs in all the colors of the rainbow.

"Mother's had flowers all over it. I think this is better," Ducky said. There was a moment of silence as they all took in the pot, knowing it had been Ziva's.

"To Special Agent Anthony DiNozzo," Eli began and then stopped and looked up, "I will not be able to hand this to you, Agent DiNozzo. It would not fit in my box."

Tony smiled.

"'I leave my piano, and I hope it will fit in his apartment. I hope that he can make more memories with it, and more music...because music is the one thing that can get inside your soul.'"

Tony's head dropped abruptly and when he looked up again, his eyes were full of tears.

"Do you still play, Agent DiNozzo?" Eli asked.

"I do now," Tony said.

"Shipment details have been arranged. Here is the number for you to call when you are ready to receive it." Eli handed Tony a piece of paper in an envelope.

"Thank you," Tony said, holding it in shaking hands.

"'To Special Agent Leroy Jethro Gibbs, I leave nothing of monetary value. He has always had my respect and for years has been one that I could rely upon when trouble came my way. You have my undying gratitude for helping me see the truth and helping me cope with that truth.'" Eli looked up and handed Gibbs the piece of paper and a small postcard. "This is Jerusalem. She has kept this postcard for many years." He paused and then continued, "Ari gave it to her shortly after Tali died." There was writing on the back, but Gibbs did not read it. He simply accepted it and placed it reverently in his pocket.

This time the silence that fell was for the recognition that Eli David had lost three children...what more he had lost no one knew. Finally, he turned to Tim who had been sitting as silently as a grave.

"'To Special Agent Timothy McGee, if it survives whatever has killed me, I would like him to have my star of David. If it can survive my death, it can survive anything...as can he. Tim, you have been a friend to me since the very first day I joined the team. You have always been a good and decent man in a world full of liars and corruption. You were a beacon showing me what the world could be like. For that, I thank you.'"

Tim reached out with hands shaking as much, or more, than Tony's hands.

"I...I don't...know what to say," Tim whispered, his voice shaking as much as his hands. He could barely grasp the necklace as Eli handed it to him.

"We do not bury our dead with jewelry, Agent McGee," Eli said softly. "Ziva wore that necklace all through her life. The only time she would remove it was when it prevented her from doing her job."

The necklace, now laying in Tim's hand was scorched, scratched and bent...but it was still recognizable as the one Ziva had always worn. It had been so much a part of her that Tim had stopped noticing it.

"She has given you all a part of herself," Eli said. "There are two others who survived but who cannot accept their bequests at the moment. Would you please be sure they get them?" Two heavy packages were in his hands. Ducky took them reverently and read the names.

"They will receive them, I promise."

"Good. Thank you. The rest of the items in this box were for those who have died. None are valuable in terms of money. I will leave them with you, if I may? It does not feel right to take them."

Gibbs nodded. "Yes. That's fine. We'll take them. If there is family..." Gibbs stopped and everyone knew he was thinking of Jenny. "...we will give the bequests to them."

"Thank you. Now, we must go. The plane will wait, but I do not wish to delay her burial any longer."

The three men who were able all stood together. Tony grabbed Tim's arm.

"Say good-bye for me, Probie."

Tim closed his eyes and nodded. "I will, Tony. I promise."

"Thanks."

Then, they were gone. Tony was alone in the room, thinking about Ziva. She had left him her piano. He laughed a little at the thought of it because their nights playing together had ended more than a year ago. They had been wonderful nights, but they had ended. His undercover operation was getting in the way and taking up all his free time. It was too hard to get it all done as it was. Now, he wasn't sure which he treasured more: the piano or the memories Ziva had evoked with her few words.

"Good-bye, Ziva," Tony said softly, but he knew that she had been gone for days. This good-bye wasn't really for her. It was for all of them.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

They stood out on the tarmac, no words spoken. Tobias had joined them as they pulled up to the airport. He hadn't said any words, but his eyes had traveled over each of them and his eyes were fully of sympathy. In accordance with Israeli custom, Ziva would not be buried in a coffin, but she was in one to keep her body secure on the flight.

Then, it was time. With a strength none of them felt, each man took a place beside the coffin and walked with it to the ramp. Then, each one took a moment. It was like when Kate died. Memories flashed through their heads, significant moments, silly moments...but most of all, Ziva, alive and well. Her image was sharp and clear right now.

"Good-bye, Ziva," Ducky said softly. "You will be greatly missed, my dear."

Gibbs didn't speak. He just rested his hand on the coffin for a moment before withdrawing to stand next to Tobias and Ducky.

"Ziva..." Tim began, "...I'm sorry." The tears flowed once more. "I wish...but it does no good wishing. Ducky has been making me tell Abby about beautiful things I've experienced. I want to tell you one before you're gone." Tim looked up. Eli was standing close to, and he would hear, but it didn't matter now, he supposed. "You were one of the most beautiful experiences of my life. I will never forget you." He straightened. "Tony wanted to say good-bye himself, but he couldn't be here. Good-bye, Ziva." Then, he backed away before turning to join the others.

Together, they stood, shoulder to shoulder, as the coffin was loaded and the ramp closed. Eli nodded to them and boarded. Then, the plane taxied and took off, leaving the men behind. None of them moved until the plane was out of sight. Then, they all slowly began to leave.

Perhaps only Tobias heard Tim's whispered final word.

"Shalom."


	14. Chapter 14

**Chapter 14**

_Three weeks later..._

"Shalom means _peace_, you know," Tim said softly. Those listening to him speak saw the dullness in his eyes as he spoke.

"It is used for _hello_, for _good-bye_, but it means _peace_." He lifted his dull eyes to the devastation behind the crowd, memories of the last month coming thick and fast. The members of the audience may as well not have been there.

"Peace is what we strive for. It is what we want."

_...Michelle, opening her eyes for the first time, unable to speak or move. Her silent tears as she remembers Jimmy's last moments and receives the ring he had been trying to give to her. She now wears it as a way to keep her trying to get back her life..._

"As members of the Naval Criminal Investigative Service, we find those who have disturbed or destroyed peace." He shifted his gaze to the members of the other agencies who had come to show solidarity. "As law enforcement, as citizens of the United States of America...as human beings, we work to preserve peace for those in need of it, for the tired, the poor, the sick."

_...Sitting with Abby day after day, while the doctors insisted that she would wake up. She didn't wake up..._

"Peace, as Dr. Mallard told me...in a very long discussion," here Tim's eyes brightened briefly as he smiled and a wave of soft laughter spread across the audience, "comes from the Latin word _pax _or _pacem_. It has had many different shades of meaning since it was first attested in the 12th century."

_...Funerals. So many of them that it seems impossible to count them all. Saying good-bye to Jenny, seeing what Ziva would have left to her (a book in French with messages written in Arabic and in Hebrew). Saying good-bye..._

"From the absence of war to tranquility to happiness to simple quiet, peace has been in the minds of many. And yet, in this world, peace is hard to find, and harder to hold onto."

_...Saying good-bye to Jimmy, laughing sad tears at the Scrabble board Ziva had left for him. They play Scrabble to remember both of them...they play in Michelle's room, although she can't participate. She can only watch..._

"We lived secure in our peace here. Even with all the precautions, the day-to-day hassles, we felt safe in our work, secure in knowing that we were, in our own way, trying to make the world a better place, and succeeding to some degree."

_...Realizing how little they all knew Cynthia. Her funeral is full of relatives. The eulogies speak of her kindness, her selfless service. It is a part of her they hadn't even realized they didn't know..._

"A man who has known more of loss than I hope I ever will told me that we cannot change people. People must change themselves. Those who wrought the destruction you all see behind you..." There was a shifting as everyone looked back to see the ruins of NCIS, still in the process of being cleared out. "...they were trying to make change through force, through fear. Wiser men than myself have seen through the intent to the future that lies ahead."

_...Nights of nightmares, days of grief. Day by painful day. He knows that someday will see a lessening of it...but not yet. Still, he has to face it..._

Tim looked at Tony sitting beside Gibbs and Ducky on the front row. There was a wheelchair beside him. He had actually graduated to using a walker for short jaunts, i.e. to the bathroom and back, but he had refused to use a walker in public. He was living at Gibbs' house until he could handle stairs again.

"And there _is_ a future. All of us here, whether we were in the building, outside it, or miles away, we are all survivors...because we must survive the..." Tim's control over his tears was slipping and now his eyes glistened as the tears threatened to fall. "...the loss. The loss of those we knew. The loss of happiness, of security, of tranquillity...the loss of _peace_ in all its forms. We must struggle through the chaos."

_...Long days spent sitting alone, just remembering. Wondering how the sun can bear to shine so gloriously at a time like this. Sometimes, he can even smile in recollection..._

"...but we can do it. Today, one month after the bombing that killed so many of our friends...friends and colleagues, we acknowledge the loss and the need to go on. We show that even through the pain we can still seek for the peace that will preserve us." The tears started to fall, and Tim couldn't read his notes anymore. They were just a blur.

_...Spending time helping with the cleanup in the places where the trained crews can afford to allow it. Promising Tony that he will listen to him play the piano..._

For a few seconds, he simply stood at the podium, breathing and trying to reclaim control over his emotions. Then, a hand on his shoulder gave him the strength to blink away the tears and go on.

"When the pain has ebbed, there will be a temptation for anger, for revenge...but if we stand for anything, we must stand for justice...for peace. We cannot vent our despair and anger on those who do not deserve it..." Here, Tim looked tearily at the families of the men who had planted the bombs. "...and we cannot take the law into our own hands. What we must do is...is..." The words blurred again and a strong voice, gruff with its own emotion continued Tim's words.

"...what we must do is rebuild. Rebuild our lives. Rebuild our hearts. Rebuild the symbol of who we are. We must rebuild NCIS, remembering our dead and letting their lives continue to mean something by struggling to prevent the kind of pain and loss we have felt. We must try to keep others from feeling what we have felt here."

Tim took a deep breath and put his hand on the hand on his shoulder, signaling his intention to continue.

"Those of us who spent our days in the building which was destroyed feel as though we have lost a home...and family. Some things we cannot bring back, but we can bring back our lives and we can, with time, go back to doing our jobs, fulfilling the mission of NCIS: to prevent terrorism, protect secrets and reduce crime. As Acting Director Vance reads out the names of those who died, I hope you will remember them all and that you will remember the sacrifice they made...and use that sacrifice to help instead of hinder your healing." Wiping his eyes, Tim looked over and nodded to Vance who nodded back and stood as Tim, with Gibbs at his side, walked off the platform and sat with the other surviving members of NCIS Headquarters. They'd all been temporarily assigned to other locations, but many of them had already expressed their intention to return when the new building was finished.

Vance stood at the microphone, just to the side of a scrolling list of names, sixty-one in all. He read in a quiet voice that nonetheless carried to the back of the group.

"_Robert Lovitz...Geraldine Weaver...Lara Hannah Miller...Adam Saunders...James Tyson Palmer...Jennifer Shephard...Cynthia Sumner...Jonathan Latrell...Lois Dearing...Nicholette Jardine..."_

The names went on and on, but Tim knew them all already. He had found the list of casualties days before and he knew. When the memorial ended, Tim only wanted to leave...as did most of the others who had been there, but they had to endure the condolences, the compliments, all the things that couldn't help but were kindly meant.

Finally, people started to leave, slowly trickling away from the scene of grief and sadness. Somehow, Tim ended up being among those who stayed until the very end, along with Ducky, Gibbs and Tony. Vance shook the hands of some nameless important people and slowly crossed the stage to where they were sitting.

"Agent McGee."

"Yes, Director?"

"Did you believe what you said?"

Tim felt tired and couldn't muster up the energy to feel anything at the moment. Ducky was sitting just behind him and Tim could feel him shift.

"Which part?"

Vance smiled. "It depends?"

"Yes. If you're asking about the etymology of the word _peace_, then, yes, I do believe it. If you're asking about the part where I said we have a future...I don't know if we do, but I'm trying to believe it...and if I can help others believe, so much the better."

"It was well done, Agent McGee," Vance said kindly. "You made even _me_ believe it's possible to rebuild. I have no doubt that you gave hope to others as well." Then, he left the four men alone.

"You were right about all that, you know, McGee," Tony said as he shuffled himself into his wheelchair. Everyone knew better than to offer to help. "All that stuff about rebuilding and not getting revenge. You're right." He settled himself in the chair and then had to suffer through being pushed back to the cars. He wasn't strong enough to push himself around yet.

"I know, Tony," Tim said. "I wish they hadn't asked me to speak."

"Why not?"

Tim looked away from everyone to the building. "Because these kinds of things shouldn't happen until the story is over...but the story doesn't feel over. It can't be over, not yet."

"Because of Abby?" Gibbs asked.

"No. Not because of Abby," Tim said, although his mouth twisted ominously. Then, he sighed. "You know what? You go. I need to stay here for a little while."

"We'll wait, Probie," Tony said.

"No, Tony. I need you to go...and I need to stay...just for a while."

They all looked at him worriedly.

"I'll be back."

Still skeptical, they didn't move. This Tim was functioning better than the Tim of a month ago, but it was still a matter of functioning, not of living.

"I promise," Tim said.

Finally, Gibbs nodded and gestured to Tony and Ducky to get in the car. Tim had taken his own car. Then, they drove away and Tim was alone on the Yard...at least, this part of it. Slowly, Tim walked across the park to the large cannon that had been repaired and replaced. The park had been easy to fix. Some of the items were damaged, but they had been restored. The trees had been replaced, although the saplings would take time to grow. The park would be back to normal long before any of the property around it. Leaning on the cannon, Tim looked at the place where headquarters had been. The crews had begun trucking out the rubble but just getting the area ready for rebuilding would take months.

The sight was still too painful and Tim turned around, leaning against the cannon, he slid to the ground in much the same fashion as he had that first day. How long he sat there, he didn't know.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

A hand on his shoulder.

"What are you doing here?" he asked.

"You shouldn't be alone here, Tim. I left you alone once and it was wrong. I won't do it again."

Tim didn't shift his gaze, but softly, quietly, with no fanfare, he began to cry...silent tears, as Gibbs sat beside him...and didn't leave.


	15. Chapter 15

**Chapter 15**

_One week later..._

Visiting Michelle was hard...but necessary. She appeared to have most of her mental faculties, but her physical abilities were going to take a long time to reclaim. She had graduated to the point of being able to talk..sort of. It required a measure of patience and an ability to interpret her soft whisperings. She could move her hands, but she had no dexterity. However, it seemed that Jimmy had shielded her not only in life, but in death as well. His body had protected her from the rubble that would surely have killed her had it hit her directly. That knowledge was hard for her to accept. Her parents had wanted to move her back to their home in New York to care for her themselves, but she had refused, wanting to stay in DC instead. It was her home now. It was where Jimmy had been. It was her life.

Now, Tim walked toward her room. She would be transferred to a nursing home for full-time care soon, and then it would take more effort to visit her. It was hard enough already. Tim hadn't been able to talk to her by himself until just the last few days. For some reason, today, he had _wanted_ to go. It wasn't out of a need to prove himself or a desire to keep her from feeling alone. He _wanted_ to be there.

"You keep telling yourself that, Tim," he muttered to himself. "Maybe you'll actually believe it someday."

Tim knocked politely before opening the door. Michelle was sitting up today, alone for the moment. That was rare because her parents were usually around.

"Hey, Michelle, enjoying the peace and quiet?" Tim asked.

A lopsided smile appeared on Michelle's face and she shook her head marginally.

"Do you mind some company?"

Again, she shook her head.

"I went to NCIS today. They're finally making some progress on getting all the...rubble cleared away. Vance is trying to get us back up to full force, but he also has to find places to put everyone...and some of the survivors aren't coming back."

Michelle's face twisted and she spoke for the first time. "I...misshim," she whispered, looking at the ring on her finger.

Tim had to bite his lip in order to keep himself composed. "I miss them all."

She nodded and her eyes traveled to the package, small but fairly heavy, that lay on her table.

"When are you going to see what Ziva left you?" Tim asked.

"When...cando...itmyelf," Michelle answered.

"I'll help you. I'll hold it for you."

Now, Michelle smiled. "You..juswanna...know...wha...itis."

Tim smiled back. "Of course, I do. I'm curious...but maybe it will help."

"Who?" Michelle asked with her usual perspicacity.

Tim looked at his hands...the bandages were gone now, and he could see the thin scars that covered them from the flying glass...but he could use his own hands.

"Maybe it's for me...but I'd like to think it would help you, too."

Michelle looked at the package again and then nodded. Tim picked it up and held it out to her, near her right hand which was working better than her left. She clumsily lifted her hand and managed to maneuver her fingers beneath the flap. She ran her hand back and forth under it and Tim shifted the package around so that she could get all the tape dislodged. After a minute or two, there was an envelope...and a knife lying in Michelle's lap.

"Do you want me to read the letter to you?"

She nodded.

Tim pulled it out and nearly cried when he saw Ziva's neat writing...so precise...and so brief. He cleared his throat.

"'To Agent Michelle Lee, I leave one of my throwing knives. On the day of our disastrous knife-throwing practice, you ended up throwing your knife backwards. Obviously, that is not where it was supposed to go, but you still managed to hit a target. Perhaps, you are not meant to have the obvious target, just the one that is right for you. ...but you should still make sure you are able to hit the one in front of you."

With her weak hands, Michelle reached out and tried to grasp the hilt of the knife. It was long and slender, perfectly-balanced...with a couple of nicks in the blade. It was Ziva's. She had used it. Michelle had no strength to lift it, but her hand did close around it.

"I hate...thisss," she said.

"Me, too."

She looked at him. "You...gonna...quitoo?"

Tim was quiet for a few seconds before shrugging. "I don't know. Some days, all I want to do is run away from all this. Other days, I know I can't. It would be like running away from my life."

The hand released the knife and weakly moved to Tim's arm. "If...I...cando...it...you can."

"You're stronger than I am, Michelle."

She smiled and shook her head. "No...jusstubborn."

Tim chuckled a little. "How much longer before you're moved?"

"Three...das."

"We'll have to schedule another Scrabble match."

"Yes."

Tim stood to go, but then stopped and looked down at Michelle. She was so small, almost like a child, but she did have quite the stubborn streak.

"I'm so glad you lived, Michelle. I thought I watched you die."

"I...couldn...leave." She lifted her arms briefly and Tim nodded at the request, leaning down and gathering her limp body into a brief hug. She couldn't really return it yet, but maybe someday...

Tim let her go and gently lay her back down on the bed. Then, he bade her good-bye and left the room. In the hall, he had to wipe his eyes. He still hadn't seen Abby today. It was getting even harder to go to her room because she just wasn't waking up, and Tim was beginning to lose hope that she ever would. Even though the doctors kept saying that she was more responsive, Tim just couldn't see it...but Ducky had told him he needed to keep telling Abby about the beautiful things in his life. Some days, it was hard. Some days, it was easier...but at no time did he really think she could hear him. If Abby could hear what he was saying, there was no way she'd stay asleep like this. Abby cared too much about people to listen to their pleas without reacting. Tim knew that everyone had asked her to wake up. He'd heard them. So...Abby couldn't hear him when he told her about Yellowstone or about Minnesota or about a dream he'd once had. She couldn't hear any of it. He was really just talking to himself.

"Let's get this over with," he said to himself and set off for Abby's bedside.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

"This is so stupid, Ducky," Tony muttered as he pushed the walker around Gibbs' house. "I'm a young strapping guy, not an old grandpa. I shouldn't be using a walker!"

"Well, the more you use it now, the less you will have to later on," Ducky said, smiling as Tony worked on breaking the speed record for walker wielders.

"Where's Gibbs?"

"Escaping from your complaining, I believe he said."

"He actually went to work?" Tony asked. Ducky nodded. "Wow. I thought he'd refused to ever step foot in the office at Norfolk."

"I think the idleness is wearing on him."

"It's wearing on me, too, Ducky." Tony got himself to the couch and nearly collapsed. "McGee only comes over here when you make him. He only goes home when the hospital forces him to leave...and even then, he's as likely to go to the Yard...to stare at the rubble, I guess, as he is to go anywhere else. I'm getting very bored. All I get to do is go to the hospital, do my physical therapy and come back here, with a stopoff to see Abby and to see Lee. Do you realize how much time I have on my hands?"

Ducky nodded. "I do, Tony. I have done my best. I cannot, nor do I wish to force Timothy to do anything. He seems better this week, although I'm not certain as to the reason...but I do believe that he is still operating on autopilot rather than really living."

"Yeah, so do I...and it sucks, Ducky."

"Yes, I do believe it does...suck, Tony."

Tony suppressed a smile. "I don't think I've ever heard you say that word before, Ducky. It sounds...weird when you say it."

"It is a strange use of the word, but I would be willing to bet that it has a twentieth-century derivation."

"I don't know, Ducky, and I'm fairly certain I wouldn't be any happier if I knew the derivation."

"More than likely not. I probably would not be any happier either."

The smile faded from Tony's face and he sighed, looking at the walker. "What are we going to do, Ducky?"

"About what?"

"Everything."

"That's a very large question. I'm gratified that you have so much confidence in my intelligence, but not even I would presume to–"

"All this, Ducky," Tony said. "We lost more than a building. I think...I think we all lost...and I know this is going to sound schmaltzy, but we all lost a bit of our souls when the building collapsed. All of us. McGee is just more obvious about it."

"You're right, Tony. I wish I did know what to do about all this, but I don't. Like you, I am simply living one day at a time and hoping."

"I don't think we would have made it without you, Ducky."

Ducky actually blushed a little and looked out the French doors. "We haven't made it yet, Tony."

"But I think we will...because we have you. Even Gibbs...although I know he won't admit it...even he needs you."

"We all need each other, Tony. Don't forget that. All of us need...all of us."

"I think McGee's forgotten that."

"Or he's forgotten that he is included in the _all_." Ducky sighed. "I know he is going to therapy and I know he is better, but he is not well...not at all."

"Ducky..." Tony now looked uncomfortable.

"What?"

"I should have told you...or told Gibbs before, but I kept hoping that he would take it back...but he hasn't _been_ back since he gave it to me."

"What are you talking about, Tony?"

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

Tim sat beside Abby, holding her hand, not speaking yet. He was running out of things to say. She still looked so empty...and pale, even for her. Tim smiled at the thought of Abby being too pale.

"I had a dream, Abby."

No response.

"It was a beautiful dream." Tim wasn't looking at her now. "I dreamt that I woke up and went to work. I dreamt that Ziva was still alive, that NCIS wasn't just a hole in the ground...and I think it was the most beautiful sight I'd ever seen...but even in my dream, I knew it wasn't real. I wish it wasn't a dream." Tim took a flower out of his bag. It was in a protective package and now, he opened it and smelled the scent...it wasn't strong, but it was the smell of something living. It was a strange-looking flower at first glance, something along the lines of a psychotic cotton ball, akin to dandelion cotton. Closer examination revealed dozens of tiny metallic-pink blooms, shaped almost like stars, tightly-clustered together.

"I found this the other day. It's called Stars of Persia. I think it's beautiful. Strange and beautiful at the same time...just like you, Abby. I know you can't see it, can't hear me talking, won't even know that it's here, but I figured that while I'm continuing to engage in exercises of futility, I'd bring you something instead of just telling you about it."

Tim gently released Abby's hand, laid it carefully on her chest, palm up, and then, set the small flowers in her hand. He kissed her forehead as he stood up.

"Bye, Abby."

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

"He gave you Ziva's necklace?" Ducky asked, aghast as he looked at the battered jewelry in his hand, the single star bent and blackened.

"He said he didn't feel right having it, that it was wrong for Ziva to have left it to him."

"And you accepted it?"

"No!" Tony said instantly. "No, I kept telling him that Ziva wanted _him_ to have it, that she knew what she was doing, but McGee wouldn't listen to me. I thought he had, but when he left, I found it on the table. I figured I'd just make him take it the next time I saw him, but, honestly, I haven't seen him since then. I think he's avoiding me because he _knows_ that I'm going to give it back."

"Oh, dear. When was this?"

"Earlier this week. Ducky...do you think that–?"

"I sincerely hope not, Tony."

Tony looked guilty. "I swear, Ducky. I swear I was going to give it back to him! That's the only reason I didn't tell you all right away. I thought I could give it back and talk, but I just didn't see him. He wouldn't answer his phone and..."

Ducky put a hand on Tony's arm to stop his words. "I don't blame you, dear boy. Goodness knows there's enough self-blame flying around right now. No, I think I had better search for him."

"I'm coming with you."

"Tony..."

"Ducky, you said that we all need each other." Tony's walls had been truly breached by the bombs and the loss of so many friends, but he still hesitated to express his feeling. "...and...and I need McGee. I can't lose him, too, not after...not after losing Ziva. I've lost too many teammates, Ducky. I'm not going to add McGee to the list. ...and I'm not going to sit here wondering if McGee really is...I'm not, Ducky."

"Very well. Come along." Ducky stood, pausing only to grab his phone and make sure that Tony was sturdy enough to follow along with his walker. Once they were settled in...Tony's car since Ducky's car would not be good for searching or high-speed chases...Ducky said, "Call Gibbs. He will wish to know as well."

"Right." Tony pulled out his own phone. "Gibbs?"

"_What, Tony?"_

"I hope you're not really in Norfolk, because Ducky and I think there's a problem."

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

Tim walked to his car, but the sight of it sickened him. It only reminded him of the fact that, even though so many people had died, his car had survived without a scratch. What he had said to Michelle was right. He could only run away by leaving his life behind...


	16. Chapter 16

**Chapter 16**

Tim walked. He didn't care really where he was going because the destination didn't matter. He knew he'd end up in the same place regardless of where he set out to go. There really was only one place that drew him, only one place he could be...and that was what tore him apart. That was why he needed to run...and simultaneously, why he _couldn't_ run. Anywhere he went would feel like another world...and staying here was slowly killing him. He recognized it now. He felt powerless to stop it. There were moments...like when Gibbs had stayed with him at the Yard for nearly an hour, not leaving him alone that time...those moments when he felt the faint stirrings of hope Ducky so wanted to awaken in him. There just weren't enough of them to keep him from feeling like he was dying inside.

So he walked, not paying any attention but knowing at the same time where he was heading. That was it really. Tim felt that for the last five years his whole life had been tangled up in NCIS. There was little else outside it. Even his writing depended on his NCIS work. Without NCIS, he felt like he had nothing else...and NCIS was gone...but, like a man in a desert, he kept returning to the mirage in the hopes that just once it would be real.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

"I thought for sure he'd be on the Yard," Tony said in frustration.

"As did I. I guess we'll have to try the hospital. Jethro _did_ say he was on his way, correct?"

"Yeah, but not even Gibbs can drive from Norfolk to DC in ten minutes."

"I would wager that he will get as close to that number as he can."

Tony smiled as he stared out the window. "You're right."

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

Tim's feet took him on his way and he didn't feel the slightest bit of surprise when he realized he was only a mile away from the Yard. He had known that was where he was going.

_My problem is that every time I think I might heal, I deliberately stab myself again,_ Tim thought to himself. It was ridiculous that he would keep coming back to look, to relive every terrible, guilt-ridden moment. It couldn't change anything. It couldn't help. It could only hurt him again...and again...and again...

...but still...he did it. The Yard loomed closer and closer and Tim felt his chest constrict, as if someone had tied a rope around his ribs and was slowly tightening it...slowly but inexorably until that moment when he wouldn't be able to breathe anymore. Still, he walked.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

Eyes open, expecting...what? A heavy weight...or was it a hand...or a kiss.

Eyelids blinking and vision clearing...but not memory.

Eyes shifting to the right, to the left. Quiet.

The other hand...a soft...weight. Eyes shifting once again, down.

Stars.

She was holding stars in her hand.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

"Wait! Wait, there! Do you see, Ducky?"

"Where?"

"There, on the sidewalk, just down the street! That looks like McGee, doesn't it?"

"I do believe it does. So, he walked this time, did he?"

"Let me out. I want to talk to him."

"Tony, you won't–"

"I don't need to walk the whole way, but he's been avoiding me and I'm tired of it. McGee won't be able to keep walking away from an invalid. He's too good for that," Tony said with a sad smile on his face.

"You are a good man, as well, Tony," Ducky said as he pulled over to the sidewalk. "Don't forget that."

Tony just hitched one shoulder in response as he got out of the car. Ducky pushed the walker out the back door and watched as Tony grasped it firmly and pushed it down the sidewalk. He knew how much of a sacrifice this was for Tony, being seen with a walker. No matter how much he joked, he really did hate it. It would take something serious...like Tim's current mental status to get him to reveal such a weakness.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

Stars. Lots of stars. She blinked again and they resolved into small pink flowers. Where had they come from?

She looked around the room again, took a breath and wondered what was going on. She knew that she had expected someone to be there...wherever she was. She wasn't sure at first who she thought would be there. Then, she remembered...

In a voice soft from extended disuse, she whispered, "Tony?"

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

"McGee! Wait up!" Tony called to the figure walking slowly ahead of him. He watched with satisfaction as Tim stopped and looked back in surprise...and then, disbelief at the sight of Tony hobbling toward him. "Come on, man, have a heart!"

Tim walked slowly toward him and Tony saw the confusion. "Tony, what are you doing out here?"

"What are you? You left your car at the hospital."

"Just walking."

"Me, too...but I'm tired. Can't we sit?"

Tim looked back. The Yard was only a few blocks away, and Tony could see that Tim wanted to keep going, but, as he had predicted, Tim nodded, unable to leave Tony standing alone on the sidewalk.

"What is it, Tony?"

"I should be asking you that question. Tell me what's going on." He held out the necklace and was surprised when Tim actually seemed ashamed. "I don't get you, McGee. It's been a month and suddenly you don't want what Ziva left for you?"

Tim took the star and stared at it. "I don't deserve it."

"It's not about deserving, McGee. It's a gift. You don't deserve gifts."

"It's not that, Tony."

"Then, what is it, Tim? Help me out, here, because I'm not getting it. I can't understand what it is that you're saying."

"I should be getting over all this, you know," Tim said, leaning forward, still looking only at the necklace. "It shouldn't be like this. I shouldn't be..._feeling_ the way I am...but I am, Tony. I'm still feeling it, but..."

"What are you feeling?"

"I want to run away," Tim whispered. "I go to the hospital every day and I talk to Abby, but I know she can't hear me. I go and I talk to Michelle and I see in her all the strength I don't have. Then...every day...I have to come back here. I can't explain why. I just do. I can't stay away, but I want to. I really, really want to, Tony."

Tony pushed his walker out of the way and grabbed Tim's shoulder. "I wish I could help you, Tim...I just don't know how."

"Can you give me a ride to NCIS?"

"McGee..."

"Please, Tony."

Tony could see that Tim would just go there himself if he refused; so he nodded and signaled for Ducky to come. Tim smiled at little when he saw Ducky looking out of Tony's car and Tony grinned as well.

"We couldn't go searching for you in his antique," he said.

"I don't understand why you were searching for me in the first place," Tim replied as he got in the back seat.

"Where to?" Ducky asked. "I suppose it's too much to hope for a 'Home, James!' reply?"

"To the Yard," Tony said with a sigh.

"I thought as much. Off we go."

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

She remembered pain, a lot of pain hitting her in the face. She remembered being trapped, remembered hearing Tony at first. But she also remembered Tony going quiet.

"Tony?" she whispered again.

She remembered the weight, that awful weight pressing down on her from every angle...and the pain that accompanied it.

"Hello?"

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

"Why do you insist on coming back here, Timothy?" Ducky asked when they reached Willard Park.

"I can't explain it, Ducky. I wish I could, but I can't."

"Try."

Tim scooted over so that there was room for Tony on the bench and he stared at the ruins (now more like a big hole in the ground) with the same expression as he had stared at Ziva's necklace.

"I'm not hearing anything, Probie," Tony said softly after a few minutes.

"I can't leave, but I want to leave. I can't stay, but I need to." Tim ran both hands through his hair and stood up, pacing back and forth. "Don't you get it?" He pointed at the empty space but didn't halt his anxious movements. "If I stay here any longer it's going to kill me, but I can't leave! I can't go and I can't stay...and I just don't know what to do anymore." He paused in his pacing and looked back at where NCIS should have been. "I come here and I can barely bring myself to look...but I can't _not_ look. NCIS is my life...and I feel like it's been taken away." Tim turned away from the sight and looked at the two men, his friends, closer friends now than they had ever been before this tragedy. He shook his head and spread his hands. "I don't know what to do."

Ducky stood and walked to Tim, looking him in the eye. "Timothy, were you intending to commit suicide?"

Tim didn't act surprised or angry or guilty...just tired. "No. No, I wasn't."

"Are you sure?"

"Yes."

"Do you want to?"

"Sometimes."

That matter-of-fact admission was a surprise, and it shocked Ducky and Tony into silence. Tim turned back to the building site for a few seconds before his shoulders hunched as if he were in pain and he rejoined Tony on the bench.

Ducky looked at the site as well, wondering if there really was any solution for Tim's dilemma...when suddenly, he had an idea.

"Timothy...have you considered asking for a transfer?"

The response to that question was immediately negative...from both Tony and Tim. Ducky smiled and held up his hand to still the outcry.

"I'm not talking about anything permanent. Timothy, if you are being hurt by remaining here, perhaps you need some time away to heal."

"I can't leave, Ducky!"

"A temporary transfer would not require you to leave NCIS. Do you understand? You would still be doing your job, but you would be separated from what is causing you pain...at least for a while." Tim looked ready to protest once more. "Just think about it, Timothy. I am merely offering you an option." His phone rang then and he stood up and walked away to answer.

Tony looked at Tim. "You're not really going to think about it, are you?"

Tim wouldn't look at Tony.

"You are, aren't you. You're actually considering leaving."

Tim didn't answer.

"That is wonderful news," Ducky said, a smile on his face. "Yes, we will be right over. Thank you very much!" He hung up and looked at Tony and Tim. "Abigail has finally rejoined us."

Tony stood too quickly, lost his balance and would have fallen if Tim hadn't been beside him to steady him.

"She's awake?" Tony asked.

"Yes...and asking for you, albeit in a whisper."

"She's asking for _me_?"

"Yes, Tony. You were the last person she saw, remember."

"Oh...yeah." While he'd never forget much of what had happened over the last month, his time buried under the ruins of NCIS was only the stuff of his dreams...nightmares. His conscious memory was only of a momentary fear and then darkness. "Well, let's go!"

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

Gibbs was driving much too fast. He always did, but the call from Tony had only served to make him more reckless...and Norfolk was so far away from DC. He still had an hour left when his phone rang again.

"What is it, Tony?" he asked.

"_Boss, Abby's awake!"_

The rapidity with which Gibbs was forced to switch tracks almost made him swerve. "What about McGee?"

"_He's with us."_

"How is he?" he asked, but his foot let up slightly off the gas pedal.

"_Been better, but...he's coming with us."_

That wasn't the whole story, but if Tim was with them, then at least he wouldn't have to worry about finding Tim's body in Willard Park. That event was all too easy to picture in his mind.

"Okay, I'll meet you there."

"_Right, Boss."_ Tony's voice sounded so relieved that Gibbs found himself relaxing a tad. He hung up and let out a sigh. The sigh became more than a sigh and he had to pull over.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

Abby was crying, her half-healed face scrunched up in grief as she greeted, for the first time, the reality that everyone had been dealing with for over a month. Tony hugged her from his precarious perch on the edge of her bed.

"You're sure they're all dead?" she asked, her voice raspy. "It's not a mistake?"

"It's not a mistake, Abbs," Tony said softly. "I've...been in churches more in the last month than I'd been in my entire life."

Abby tried to laugh but she couldn't and even Tony mustered only a half-smile.

"Ziva left you something, Abigail," Ducky said, pulling the package from its place in the corner. "Would you like to see what it is right now? Or would you prefer to wait?"

Abby shook her head. "Let me see."

Tony made as if to let her go, but she leaned into him. She and Tim hadn't yet said anything beyond hello. Granted, Tim wasn't saying much, but for the moment, Abby seemed so relieved that Tony was alive she wasn't really noticing anyone else...but she still had the flower in her hand.

"There is a note," Ducky said, handing it to Tony while he opened it. When the gift was revealed, Abby started to laugh...and cry.

"What does the note say?"

Tony cleared his throat and read, "'Abby, I was thinking that perhaps Bert might need a fellow stuffed friend for when you are busy. This is my friend Namir. I kept him with me for when I felt alone, when I was afraid of the dark. Perhaps, occasionally, you may do the same.'"

It was a spotted leopard, obviously old and worn. It did not make any noise.

"Bert's gone, isn't he?" Abby asked.

"Yes, I'm afraid so," Ducky said.

Abby reached out for the leopard and pulled it to her, hugging it tightly. "Then, Namir will have to take his place." She finally let go of Tony and whispered, "Hello, Namir." The flower fell to the blanket as she hugged the stuffed leopard.

"What's that?" Tony asked.

"What?" Abby asked.

"This...thing...er, flower."

"Oh, I don't know. I was holding it when I woke up."

"It's called Stars of Persia," Ducky said, with a glance at Tim who had still not said a word. "They're quite lovely."

"I do like it," Abby said. "It's kind of weird, but pretty."

"Good," Tim said softly.

"Is this from you, Tim?" Abby asked, finally looking at him.

Tim nodded.

"Thanks," she said and reached out an arm for him.

Tim approached cautiously as if afraid of being rejected at the last moment, but then he hugged Abby tightly without speaking. When he let her go, he was shaking a little. No one got a chance to comment on it because the door opened and Gibbs came in, almost running. He didn't let anyone speak. He just grabbed Abby and hugged her to him.

"Welcome back, Abbs," he said.

"Thanks, Gibbs."

Only Tony saw Tim slip out.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

Acting Director Vance looked up from his temporary office at the sound of the knock on his door. He kept using the terms "Acting" and "temporary" because he was hoping that none of it would become permanent...but he knew it was probably a useless wish.

"Come in." The man who entered was not the person he'd been expecting. "Agent McGee...what can I do for you?"

"Director...I'd like to request a transfer."

_That _was a surprise. "Where to?"

"Anywhere that isn't here."


	17. Chapter 17

**Chapter 17**

Vance leaned back and stared at Tim for a few moments. "Would you mind telling me why?"

"Because I need to leave."

He'd seen people on the brink before. It wasn't uncommon in a job like this...and it hadn't been uncommon in the military either. Some men were just built that way. It wasn't weakness. In fact, Vance thought it was a sign of strength that many of them held on for as long as they did. Although he didn't know Tim very well, he could tell that Tim was so close to the brink he might as well be falling over the edge.

"Have a seat, Agent McGee. Tell me why you need to leave."

Tim's eyes were darting around the office and he looked both ashamed and desperate. He felt as though he was running away and yet he wanted to as well. Vance suppressed a sigh. This was a problem with no easy solution.

"Please, sir. I don't want it to be forever...I just...I need to get away from this place."

"Have you thought about taking some leave time? I know you have quite a bit saved up. You could go and see your family."

"No! I need to work...I just can't do it here." Tim looked ready to break down in tears.

Vance was about to remind him that they needed everyone they could get to continue their work in the temporary headquarters, but one look in Tim's eyes told him that would be a cruel reminder...and one that was totally unnecessary.

"Well, let me look into it, Agent McGee. I think we'll be able to find you something. It might take some time, maybe a week or so. Is that all right?"

Tim nodded. "Yes, sir. That's fine." He started to stand.

"Wait, Agent McGee."

Tim sank back to his chair.

"How are you doing?"

Tim gripped the arms of the chair and stared hard at the blotter on Vance's desk.

"I'm fine."

"No, you're not, Agent McGee. You are asking me to send you away from all your friends, from your home. You're not fine."

Tim took a long breath and Vance could tell it was taking all his strength to keep from crying.

"I'm not fine," he agreed. "I'm falling apart...and I will if I stay here any longer."

"Won't you miss your friends?"

"Yes."

"Your coworkers?"

"Yes."

"But you still want to go."

Now, Tim looked up, his eyes glistening. "If I stay here, I'll leave anyway."

Finally, Vance really understood. He nodded. "Agent McGee, I'm approving your request, but it will take some time. You are seeing a therapist?"

Tim nodded.

"Not helping?"

"Not enough."

"Okay. You can go."

Tim nodded again and got up. "Thank you, sir."

"You're welcome, Agent McGee." Vance watched him go and then sighed. He had lost sixty-one employees, several of them the most experienced and most promising at Headquarters. Another twelve had resigned. Fifteen had requested permanent transfers to other offices. He had, all in all, nearly 100 people to replace...and a new building to oversee, along with managing the day-to-day operations of NCIS all over the world. Tim's plight was another added problem, but one that had to be dealt with right away...otherwise, he'd have to replace another invaluable employee. He began to search for a place where Tim's skills would be useful, but where he could have the time to recover. He found one fairly quickly, but first, he had some calls to make.

"Hello, this is NCIS Acting Director Leon Vance," he said, grimacing at the lengthy title, "I would like to speak to Dr. Tingey if he's available. Yes, it's about a patient he is treating. Yes, I'll hold."

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

"Gibbs, you're squashing me," Abby said in her raspy voice. No one had mentioned to her yet how mangled her face still looked. It was healing and so was she. She didn't need to know...not yet. She could already see enough of herself.

"Wow, that's usually the other way around," Tony commented. Ever since he'd seen Tim slink out, it had been all he could do not to follow after him. "I'm not sure I like this trend."

Abby laughed...and then, yawned. "Man, you'd think after all the sleeping I've done that I wouldn't be so tired." Then, unaccountably, her eyes filled with tears. "I can't believe I missed all that. I missed you guys...getting better. I missed...missed the funerals." She hugged Namir more tightly.

Gibbs had eased his grip, but he had taken Tony's place on the bed, giving Tony a chance to sit in a real chair and rest his still weak body. Abby now leaned heavily against him.

"You know...when I first opened my eyes...I thought that everyone else might be dead. I mean, obviously you're not...but...there was no one here. It was just me...and I thought...what if I'm the only one alive?" She sniffled again. "But then, the doctor came in and called you all...and you all came. And I knew it would okay." She smiled, her face crinkling up in awkward shapes. She reached up to wipe away a tear and felt the healing lacerations. "What happened to me?" she asked. The moment was gone where she might have noticed that someone was missing.

"You were buried in the rubble for nearly a day, Abbs," Gibbs said. "You and Tony, both."

"But...my face feels weird. It feels wrong."

"Abigail, what do you remember of the explosion?" Ducky asked, gently.

"Not much," Abby said, still feeling her face. "I remember feeling the building shake...and then, everything falling on top of me."

"Yes, well, the debris crushed many of the bones in your face. The doctors were required to perform some extensive facial reconstruction. It is now healing, but it will feel strange for a long time...and although most of the scarring will fade, I'm afraid that not all will."

"I'm deformed?" Abby asked, her voice small and frightened.

"No," Tony said firmly. "You're not deformed, Abby."

"Promise?"

"You look injured," Ducky said. "I will not deny that, but no, you do not look deformed, and over time, even the injuries now will fade to faint scars. All your senses are working. You have nothing to worry about."

"You sure?" Abby asked.

"Positive," Gibbs said, still holding her. "If you're tired, go to sleep. Someone will be here when you wake up."

Abby looked up at Gibbs and smiled. "Namir will be here...and it doesn't matter if anyone is here right when I wake up...because I know you'll come." Then, she closed her eyes and drifted off to sleep.

"Where's McGee?" Gibbs asked as soon as he was sure Abby wouldn't hear him.

"He left...a while ago," Tony said. "I wanted to go after him, but...I couldn't. Abby needed us, too."

Gibbs sighed as he eased Abby down onto the bed, Namir secure in her arms. He looked at Ducky. "I understand now, Ducky. I'll admit I didn't get it before." He looked at Abby. "Now, I do. I'll be back."

The door open and then closed.

"He going after McGee?" Tony asked.

"I would assume so, Tony. Would you like to return to Gibbs' place?"

Tony looked at Abby. "No. I'll stay here for a while. No matter what she said, Abby would rather have someone here when she wakes up."

"Very well. I am going to check on Michelle. She's being moved in a few days."

"We'll have to make sure we play Scrabble again," Tony said softly. He sighed. "This all still sucks, Ducky. I don't know. I guess I thought it would get better once Abby woke up...but it's not. I mean, it _is_ better, just not..."

"I don't know if it will ever be _all_ better, Tony. There are too many holes, but it will get better little by little...I hope."

Tony looked at Abby for a few seconds and then turned back to Ducky. "Why did you tell McGee to leave?"

"Because he needs to know that he can."

"But he can't!" Tony said. "We need him! Abby will need him. Gibbs needs him. You need him...I do...We need the team together, not broken up."

"I agree, but you know as well as I do that Timothy is not getting better."

"He just needs time...and now that Abby's awake..." Tony trailed off remembering Tim's reaction to even touching her.

"We all need to heal in our own ways, Tony. The problem is that those ways sometimes are in conflict. You need him here. He needs to be away."

"What about you, Ducky?"

"Me? I heal best by seeing others around me heal. When I need to, I will be sure to get alone. I am not inured to loss, I assure you. It's better for me to know that I am helping. It helps _me_ keep a good perspective."

"And Gibbs?"

Ducky smiled. "Ah, Gibbs. Once he has assuaged his own guilt, he will be able to begin healing, but until this moment, I don't believe he actually understood _why_ he felt guilty. More's the pity because it hurt more than just him."

"Are you saying that what happened to McGee is his fault?" Tony asked, a little angry.

"No! Not by any means. I believe that Timothy would have been having difficulty regardless, simply because of the manner in which he was injured...but I would be lying if I said that I didn't think Gibbs had something to do with it. Timothy is complicated...as is Gibbs. Put them together?"

"A black hole of complexity?" Tony quipped.

"Exactly. Don't bring up Timothy leaving unless he does. It's his right, remember."

Tony nodded but didn't answer. After Ducky left, he turned back to Abby.

"I'm glad you're back, Abbs. We needed you," he said quietly.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

Tim stumbled out of the temporary headquarters in a daze, not noticing anyone or anything around him.

_I did it. I actually did it. I went and asked for a transfer. I'm such a weakling._

Tim knew, in part, that it wasn't weakness so much as desperation. He couldn't see what else there was left to do...except for what Ducky and Tony had feared. He lived every moment wondering why he hadn't been the one inside. Convulsively, he shoved his hand into his pocket and gripped Ziva's necklace. When he noticed his surroundings again, he was back at Willard Park, staring blankly at site. When he looked at it, he didn't see the gaping hole in the ground that now dominated the landscape. What he saw was the explosion...over and over. He dreamed of it at night, only in his nightmares there were people at the windows, screaming...melting away into nothing. In reality, he hadn't seen anything beyond that strange slow-motion rippling. He replayed the final moments he had spent with all the people who had died. Had he ever hurt one of them and not made up for it?

His mind turned back again to the fact that he had requested to leave here. When Ducky had suggested it, it had been an automatic reaction to resist the idea, but then, as Tony had continued to protest, he had felt an inward sense of relief at the thought of leaving. It wasn't an idea that gave him any comfort, but he couldn't come here and torture himself if he wasn't close to it.

Tim turned around, facing the Anacostia instead of the construction site. It wasn't enough, but he couldn't leave yet. He didn't feel strong enough to fight against the compulsion he felt to come back here day after day. It was self-mutilation, pure and simple. He was tearing himself apart by coming here, but he couldn't seem to do anything else. He went to speak to Abby and it hurt at every moment, but he did it. He went and talked with Michelle and it made him uncomfortable and guilty...but he did it. They needed him to be able to do these things. They needed him to be getting better...

"But I'm not," Tim said to the empty air. "I'm not."

"You're not what?"

Tim almost could have laughed. Almost. It seemed like Gibbs had this ability to turn up whenever Tim was alone...except for that one time...but that shouldn't matter.

"Nothing," he said.

"That's a pretty big lie," Gibbs said and sat down beside Tim, only facing the hole instead of the river.

"No, it's the truth." Tim didn't turn around and Gibbs didn't seem eager to face him either.

"Tim...why are you doing this to yourself?"

"I wish I knew."

"Okay, then, why don't you tell me why I got a call from Ducky and Tony earlier today and with them afraid you were about to kill yourself?"

"They overreacted. That's all."

"You weren't planning on it?"

"No."

"Not right then, anyway?" Gibbs asked, a slight lift in his voice, and Tim could imagine him smiling humorlessly.

"No. Not right then."

"Why did you try to give Tony Ziva's necklace?"

"I didn't want it."

"Why not?"

"Will you take it?" Tim asked. Now, he turned around, avoiding looking at the building. He held out his hand, clenched tight around the necklace. "Please, Boss."

Gibbs looked at Tim's fist and opened it. Tim had been holding it so tightly that there was star imprinted in his palm.

"No, McGee. I won't take it."

"Why not?" Tim asked.

"Because it would be wrong."

"I've tried to throw it away, but I can't. I tried to give it to Tony, but he gave it back. Why won't you take it from me?"

"Why don't you want it?"

"Because..." Tim stared at the broken star in his hand, at the red imprint on his palm. "...because it hurts me to have it."

Gibbs took the necklace and looked at it.

"Why?"

"I don't know why. I just know that it does...just like being here and seeing this hurts."

"Then, why do you come?"

"Because I have to."

"Why, though?"

"I don't know!" Tim turned back to the Anacostia.

"I understand some things now, Tim. I shouldn't have left you at the hospital."

"That's not your..."

"Maybe. Maybe not. I left you. Abby was alone when she woke up, but the difference is that she could immediately be comforted by knowing someone would come. You didn't have that. You got left by yourself. I remember what you said...that you thought we must all be dead."

"But you weren't."

"No, but we weren't there, either. Some of us couldn't be...others...just weren't. As soon as Abby woke up, the doctors called us and we all came running. Sometimes...sometimes the people who need it, don't get it."

Tim sighed. "That's not what this is about."

"Not all, maybe, but..." Gibbs didn't turn around. "...but whether you want to admit it or not, it's a part of it. You're still thinking about being alone."

"I'm not alone."

"Yeah, you are, McGee. You're alone in your head. The problem is that none of us can fix that, no matter how much we might want to."

"I know," Tim said. "I know."

"It's not this necklace that's hurting you. It's you."

"I know."

"Then, take it back."

Tim opened his hand, the same one he'd been holding it in before...and the marks from the points of the star were still red.

"I said take it. Don't just let me give it to you."

Tim hesitated and then took the necklace. It was so small, so delicate.

Gibbs' voice was brusque. "You're letting things happen to you, McGee. You can't heal until you do something for yourself."

Tim didn't answer. He just stared at the bent and blackened Star of David.

"You drove?"

"Yes."

"Don't stay here all night."

"I won't."

Gibbs softened. "You're not alone, McGee."

"I know."

Gibbs sighed and left Tim alone...but no more alone than he had been before.

Tim stayed on the bench for a long time, looking at the star. The sun sank toward the horizon, reddening, seeming to grow larger as its light was refracted through the atmosphere. Finally, Tim got up and left.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

_Four days later..._

"Come in, Agent McGee," Vance said. "Have a seat."

Tim sat down.

"I found a place for you."

"Where?"

"FLETC down in Glynco is in need of a temporary instructor for one of their courses on computer forensics. I understand you have a master's degree in that field."

"Yes."

"How would you feel about taking that on?"

Tim thought about it. "I don't know. I don't know if I'd be a good teacher."

"What's your yardstick for that? Gibbs and Agent DiNozzo?"

Tim gave a rueful smile.

"They're hardly the people you should be measuring yourself against. These are people who will need to pass the course in order to graduate. What do you think?"

"How long?"

"The regular instructor is going out on maternity leave. That gives you three months."

Tim hesitated.

"Let me warn you, Agent McGee, that if you accept this, you do need to go through with it. I pulled a few strings to get you considered for this. They were very impressed with your background and your experience. However, if you say yes and then back out, their estimation of NCIS in general is liable to go down significantly. So...do you want it?"

Tim considered. If anything was going to save him from this wreck he'd become, it wasn't going to be found here, where he was still addicted to the Yard. It would take more than his friends, as wonderful as they were. It would take more...and here, he didn't have more to give. But there was so much he was leaving behind, even if it was only for three months. Would they forgive him for running away? Would they understand his weakness?

"Well?"

Tim took a deep breath and opened his mouth to answer...


	18. Chapter 18

**Chapter 18**

Tim stood outside the door to Abby's room. He could hear her chattering away. Part of her forced cheerfulness was due to the fact that she didn't want to talk about the serious stuff yet. She hadn't had the courage to look at herself and see just how much damage had been done and, except for that first day, she hadn't spoken much about the people who had died. They all had their coping mechanisms. Abby's was to act like she was happy. Tony's was to make jokes to deflect serious conversation. Gibbs' was to say nothing. Ducky's was generally to tell a long story, but that mechanism hadn't been seen much. Tim's own mechanism was to cut himself off and focus on something else...only this time, his mind seemed to have jammed up the gears and he couldn't do that. Would he say all that once he opened the door? No. He'd be lucky if he could get out what he had to say at all, but it was important for them to hear it from him first, not from Vance.

That much decided, Tim pushed open the door.

"...and so I think I'll put in a few requests. I mean, if they're going to completely rebuild the place, I should be able to get some new equipment...and I want them to repaint the walls orange because...well, it makes the place more cheery." Abby looked back at the now-open door. She faltered for a moment. They hadn't talked much since she had come out of her coma. It was hard to pretend to be happy when the person sitting across from you looked ready to burst into tears. "Hey, Tim. Where have you been? We were just talking about sending out a search party."

Tim tried to smile, but it was hard under the pressure of the gazes from everyone else.

"I was...talking to Director Vance," he said.

Suddenly, all the life seemed sucked from the room and Tim almost couldn't make himself continue.

"About what, Timothy?" Ducky asked. Tim looked at him and saw his understanding smile. Ducky knew what he was going to say.

"I just thought you should know. I'm going to Glynco...in Georgia." No one spoke but Tim felt as though he needed to explain more...which he did. "It's not permanent, just for a few months. They need a temporary instructor in computer forensics and Director Vance recommended me. So...I'll...be moving down there for a few...months." Tim didn't know what else to say; so he waited for someone else to do the talking.

"When?" Abby asked, no longer smiling. Tim hated that he'd wiped the smile from her face.

"I'm leaving tomorrow. I'm just going to pack up my stuff, make some arrangements with my landlord and then, I'll head down."

"You _will_ be coming back, right?" Abby asked.

Tim tried to smile. "Yes. I will. It's only a temporary assignment."

Gibbs and Tony hadn't spoken. Gibbs made eye contact for a few seconds and Tim saw him understand, but where Ducky smiled encouragingly, Gibbs only looked resigned. Tony wouldn't look at Tim at all, and that hurt. Still, it was done.

"Do you need any help packing, Timothy?" Ducky asked.

Tim shook his head. "No. I don't have much I'll be taking, just clothes, my computer...nothing much else. It's only for three months. They're arranging some temporary housing for me; so I won't need anything besides clothes."

An awkward silence fell. Tim knew that Abby didn't understand why he was leaving, and it was hard knowing that he didn't feel he could explain it to her, but he couldn't tell anyone the truth. Ducky and Gibbs seemed to have an inkling, but not even they _really_ knew. It must just seem like he was running away again, like he was showing his weakness...and leaving them alone. Maybe that was the truth...he didn't know for sure.

"I...I'm going to go and visit Michelle...I figured she'd want to know, too." Tim lost his words again. He didn't know what to do, what to say. "I'll...see you all before I go."

Abby had fully recovered from the shock. "You'd better, Tim. Otherwise, I'll have to hunt you down...and my doctors wouldn't look to kindly on that, I don't think." She grinned as if it was a silly restriction that she couldn't yet go running after wayward friends.

Tim tried to smile as well. He'd have to talk to her, not to tell her everything, just to really talk to her. He didn't want to leave and have their relationship feeling so forced.

"I promise, Abby. I'll see you all later." Tim turned around and walked out.

Gibbs followed him and Tim had to turn around.

"Yeah, Boss?"

"Is this necessary?"

"Yes, it is."

"Okay. Just make sure you come back."

"I will." Tim continued on his way, knowing that no one else would follow. That meant that he could walk out of the hospital, walk to his car and sit down and cry without any witnesses. He wished there was another way, but there wasn't. No one could understand, but he hoped they'd forgive him.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

"You're leaving?" Michelle asked, her words clearer, but her voice still a bit slurred.

"Not forever, just for a few months," Tim said. He was sitting beside her bed. He only had a few more minutes before she was due for physical therapy.

"Why?"

"It's...something I need to do."

"You're coming back?"

"Yes," Tim answered. "I'm taking the place of a woman who's taking her maternity leave. It's only temporary."

Michelle looked at him carefully for a long time. Her gaze was disconcerting. It rivaled Gibbs', the way he seemed to peel back all the layers.

"You need this?" she asked finally.

"Yes. I do, Michelle. I really do."

"Then, you had better come back."

"I will."

She smiled and then held out her hand. She had insisted on shaking his hand every time he came by with the idea that maybe he would see an improvement in her grip.

"I'll arm wrestle you when you get back."

Tim finally gave a real smile and nodded. "I'll look forward to it."

"Bye, Tim." She was solemn now. Although she didn't know his reasons, she knew it was necessary. That was all she knew.

Tim nodded and walked out.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

That night, Tim was looking around his apartment, trying to figure out what else he'd need. He had packed all his old textbooks, some clothes, his computer. There was very little in his fridge since he spent as little time in his apartment as he could. Mostly, he slept here...and some nights, not even that.

There was a sound...rather like a walker being thrown against his door and it made him jump.

"Tony?"

"McGee, open up! We need to talk!"

Tim gulped. Tony sounded as angry as he had feared he would be. With a deep sigh, Tim walked to the door and opened it, but didn't stand aside to let Tony in.

"What, Tony?"

"Why are you leaving?"

"It's just something I need to do, Tony. Just leave it at that."

"No, McGee. I can't." Tony said. "I can't because we've spent the last month talking about how important it is for us to get through this as a team, not alone...and now, you're just throwing all that away. Abby hasn't even been awake for a week! How could you just leave her? How can you leave us all here?"

"I _have_ to, Tony!" Tim said, desperate to keep his secret. "I just have to. Can't you trust that I know what I'm talking about?"

"I can't, McGee...because you haven't been showing your usual brainiac self. I need to know why...and I'm not leaving until I do. I don't care if Ducky has to sit down in his car all night long." He smiled a little at his last words, but Tim did not.

His shoulders slumped in defeat and he moved aside so that Tony could come in. Then, he walked, not speaking, across the room, and into his bedroom. He heard Tony thumping along behind him. The walker was becoming less and less of a necessity. He'd graduate to crutches soon enough. Tim bypassed anything in the bedroom and went into the bathroom. There, he picked up a piece of paper and a straight razor. Then, he walked back and met Tony halfway across the bedroom. He held out the items and didn't say a word...Tony could not remain silent once he'd read the paper.

"Slitting your wrists? McGee...Tim...where did you get this?"

Tim's eyes filled with tears but he smiled ironically. "It's the information age. You can find anything on the internet. You just have to put in the right search terms."

"When?"

"Two weeks ago."

"You...you were–?"

Tim stared at his feet, ashamed once more. "I searched, found the instructions and followed them. I bought a straight razor and filled the tub. I did everything...and then, I...I sat in the bathroom all night long wondering why I couldn't go through with it." He laughed. "I couldn't...I couldn't do it."

"Tim..."

Tim looked up, but he didn't meet Tony's gaze. Instead, he looked at the bag packed on his bed. "Tony, I told you that being here was killing me. I wasn't kidding. I wasn't trying to be melodramatic. It really is killing me and I can't..." He held out his hand for the page and the razor. Tony didn't give them back. "...I can't think of anything else to do. I _have_ to go!" He looked at Tony, his hand still stretched out for the evidence of how bad it really was. "Either I have to leave...or I have to die. There's nothing else."

"So...that day...on the Yard."

Tim shook his head. "No. Not then. The Yard's seen enough death. It doesn't need another one."

"What about us, Tim? Haven't we?"

Tim closed his eyes and dropped his head again. "I know. It's the coward's way out...but I'm not strong enough to get through it. I don't know why. I don't know what it is in me that won't let this go! I just know that I can't, not while I'm h-here, not when I have to...when I know that..." He began to cry in earnest. "I'm sorry, Tony. I'm sorry that I can't stay. I'm sorry that I'm so weak, that I can't get past it, that I–"

Tim broke off and felt Tony pull him into a hug.

"No, Tim. _I'm_ sorry. You're not weak. I shouldn't have accused you like that. Ducky told me that you might need something like this. I just didn't realize. I'm sorry."

"I didn't want to leave you all alone, but...if I stay I will anyway."

"We won't be alone, Probie," Tony said and then laughed. "This is going to be the Hallmark movie moment, but I'll say it anyway. We'll have each other."

Tim laughed. "You watch Hallmark, Tony?" he asked.

"Don't tell anyone because I'll only deny it." He pulled back and looked Tim in the eye...once he got Tim to look at him again. "You need to go?"

Tim nodded. "If anything will help, this is it."

"Then, go. We'll all still be here. I'll be off this stupid walker; Abby'll be turning cartwheels again. ...but you had better still talk to us, McGee. Just because you're going to be in Georgia doesn't mean that you can cut yourself off."

"I won't. I promise."

Tony waved the straight edge and the paper. "And you won't use these?"

Tim shook his head.

"Good, because I'd have to kill you if you did."

Tim smiled again. "Thanks, Tony. Don't tell them, please."

Tony shook his head. "I can't hide this from them. They'll need to know...if they don't already. Gibbs knows everything and Ducky's way too perceptive for his own good."

"They almost know...but not quite."

"We're still a team, McGee...and you're still part of it...and the idea that we all need each other to get through this still applies. I can't pretend that I don't know, not when it comes up in conversation...and believe me, it will. Don't ask me to lie."

Tim stared at him for a few seconds and then nodded slowly. "Okay. I won't."

"Thanks."

"Thanks for...understanding, Tony."

"I don't understand, McGee...but I'm accepting that I don't and I'm just trying to help."

"You are."

"Good. Now, I'll let you finish packing. I really did leave Ducky down in his car."

Tim smiled in response and walked with Tony to the door.

"Will you be running when I get back?"

"If I can make them let me!"

"I'll see you tomorrow, Tony."

"Right. Good night, McGee."

"Good night, Tony."

Tim closed the door, walked to his room and sank down onto the bed. The razor and the paper were there. He looked at them for a moment and then threw them both in the trash. He pulled the Star of David out of his pocket and looked at it.

"I'll try to be stronger, Ziva. Maybe I can make it this time."

He finished packing and went to bed.


	19. Chapter 19

**Chapter 19**

_Ten weeks later..._

Tim watched as his various "students" filed out of the classroom. He didn't feel like he should call them students. They were nearly all federal agents...or would be as soon as they graduated. Some of them were older than he was...by a significant margin. It was weird to be their teacher. One of the younger ones peeled off the main group and walked back to him. It was plain that he wanted to ask a question but hadn't wanted to do it during class. That had happened often enough over the past couple of months. Tim himself had been guilty of it when he was in college. The memory elicited a rare smile of nostalgia.

"Agent McGee?"

"What, Lewis?"

"I wanted to ask you something."

"Go ahead. Is it about the partitioning we were doing today? Because you seemed to have no trouble with it. It's fairly basic stuff."

"No, nothing like that."

"What then?"

Lewis (full name: Clark Meriwether Lewis; his parents had been going through a history phase at the time of his birth) hesitated. He was one of Tim's pleasant surprises: a young FBI agent who had scoffed at computer forensics and then become enamored of the whole subject, doing extra projects just to learn more. He had a real knack and Tim had enjoyed encouraging him.

"You were at NCIS Headquarters before you came down here, weren't you?"

For Tim, it felt as though a sudden shadow had passed over the sun. He didn't think about NCIS during classes if he could help it as he knew that it still had the power to disconcert him to the point that he lost all track of what he'd been doing, saying...even where he'd been going. It wasn't so bad all the time, but when it came out of the blue...like this.

"Agent McGee? Are you all right?" Lewis' voice sounded like it was coming from very far away for a moment before reality snapped back into place.

"Yes. I'm fine. Yes, I was there. Why?" Tim knew his voice was cold, emotionless in a way he didn't usually speak.

Lewis was abashed but undeterred. "I just wanted to know why you came down here of all places."

"They needed a temporary instructor here. The regular teacher will be back in a couple of weeks."

"But why you? I mean, I'm sure they could have had someone from anywhere...right?"

"Are you implying that I'm not any good at this job?" Tim asked, smiling. He knew he wasn't a stellar teacher but that he wasn't too bad either. It helped that he knew what he was talking about...and years of trying to explain things to someone like Gibbs had helped him learn what worked and what didn't...even if he wasn't always any good at it.

"Get to your real question, Lewis. What is it?"

"What was it like?" The question came out in a rush.

"What was _what_ like?"

"Being there...seeing it happen."

Tim took a deep breath. "Lewis...why do you want to know?"

"Partly, it's just curiosity."

"What's the other part?"

"I've never been involved in anything like that. I've never been in a firefight. I've never lost anyone on my team. I don't know...maybe I won't ever, but that's not likely. I just want to know what it's like...so I know...so I can be ready."

Tim set his bag down on the desk at the front of the room and looked at Lewis. He was serious, Tim could tell. He wasn't going to go running out of the room and spread it around like a gossipy teenager, but trying to tell him wouldn't come close to actually _telling_ him what had happened.

"You can't know...not unless you've been there. You can't be ready for it. It's the most awful thing in the world. I can still see it happening if I close my eyes. I have nightmares about it. I remember every funeral I went to...all of them. Most were closed casket, but I can also remember seeing the bodies, some laid out under bloody sheets because they ran out of body bags. The worst thing is that I can see the building disappearing...cutting me off from everyone inside, cutting me off forever...because I lived and so many that I knew died. Some of my closest friends died. I found one of them in the rubble. She was a very good friend. I spent the first few hours so out of it that I didn't recognize voices, didn't notice anything but what was left of the building. I spent the first entire day just standing in what was left of the park, staring." Tim walked to his computer and turned it off. He didn't need to, but it gave him something to do. "While the people around me started to pull themselves back together...I continued to fall apart. I tried to get back some of my life, but I couldn't. Do you know why?"

Lewis shook his head silently.

"Because I felt _guilty_ for living. I still do to some degree. I lived that day because I got stuck in a traffic jam and was late. If those bombs hadn't gone off, I would have been in big trouble...but they did go off...and I lived. For the longest time, I only wanted to be dead and join them because I felt that I should have been dead and it was unfair that I wasn't. Unfair to whom, I didn't know at first. Now, though, I know that I felt guilty and I resented being alive. Living meant that I had to rebuild. I had to _work_ at living. I had to face the fact that everything had changed, that it would never be the same again. ...and I've never been very good at letting things go."

"And now?"

"Now?" Tim laughed. "Now, I take it one day at a time and some of the days end up being good ones, some of them...not so good. Soon, I'll have to go back. That will be the test to see if I've really gotten any better or if I'm just running away from the wreck of my life."

"What if you're running away?"

Tim knew his expression was bleak. "Then, that means that I can't make it," he said bluntly. "...but the difference between me not making it this time and how close I came to not making it before is that this time I actually believe that it might be possible." He paused and found that he was able to smile. "That's why you can't know, why you can't be ready. We all react in our own ways. My way...not the best idea. Ducky, our medical examiner, reacted probably the best of any of us...but no one heals right away. Some of us will _never_ heal completely...maybe none of us will. It's still too soon to know."

They stared at each other for a moment.

"I'm sorry, Agent McGee."

Tim shook his head. "Don't be." He paused and smiled. "I was going to say that it's a sign of weakness, but really, you don't need to apologize because it's not necessary. I wouldn't have told you if I didn't think I could." He cleared his throat and found the strength to pull himself erect into his teacher stance. "Just be sure to finish the work on partitions. It's not hard, but some people do find it time-consuming."

Lewis recognized the none-too-subtle dismissal and nodded.

"Thanks, Agent McGee," he said and then left the room.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

Night came to Glynco, Georgia...not that it got nearly as cold as it did further north, even in winter. In fact, Tim had been wearing jackets the entire time he'd been at FLETC. It was, however, cool enough to keep away some of the tourists and Tim liked that. He liked that it wasn't so crowded as it generally was in DC.

Thinking of DC seemed to have the power almost to transport him back there, and as Tim wandered aimlessly around the grounds of FLETC, he found that he was still filled with the same ambivalence that had dogged his memories ever since he'd left. What was the best thing to do when Aimee came back to her job in two weeks? Scratch that. He knew what he needed to do...he just wished that he knew what would happen when he got there.

Tim knew that he had come a long way over the last couple of months. The first week or so of his work had seen him teetering on the edge of a meltdown with all the work required prepping for classes and the necessity of focusing and being the center of attention for so long. The students had been able to see something of that in him, even if he hadn't addressed it directly. He chalked up the fact that he had survived those first weeks to the kindness of the students. Now, he felt more confident, although he wondered if he'd ever really feel comfortable being in front of the crowd and being the teacher. He was a loner and much more comfortable by himself than he was with large groups.

The loner part wasn't completely true anymore, however. It hadn't been for years, ever since he'd been on Gibbs' team. He'd been a part of a group, a part of something better, something bigger than himself...and he had liked that...no, he had loved it, had made it into what defined him...and that was the problem. He had done all that...and didn't have the ability to face the change in definition when what defined him had disappeared and altered almost beyond recognition.

That wasn't all, he realized now, as he allowed himself to ruminate on what had happened and his reaction. He had been angry, too. Divorced as he was from his friends, he could more easily address the feelings he'd had. He still talked to them nearly every day. He had laughed when Abby had described in devastating detail how Tony had insisted that he wasn't going to need crutches and then had taken a step...only to fall into Ducky's waiting arms. He had cheered when Michelle had built up the strength and dexterity to pick up a phone and call him. He had endured Tony's good-natured ribbing about being a teacher (Tony had even sent an apple down to him...a plastic one). He had spoken often with Gibbs and Ducky, at first, mostly about his near-attempt at suicide, then, about what he was doing, what they were doing.

Tim had talked with them all...but he had cut himself off...a defense which he now recognized and even as he felt a tinge of guilt, he knew it had been necessary...and he knew now that he had been as angry as he had felt guilty. Angry at the chance moment that had saved his life, angry at the lives that had been taken...and angry at Gibbs. Whether deserved or not, Tim knew now that a large part of what he had felt before had been anger that Gibbs had left him alone, alone to think that he was the only one who had survived. He just hadn't realized it because the pain and despair had been so great that they had masked his fury. He wasn't angry anymore...which was why he could think about it without any problem at all.

No, what he had noticed in the past couple of weeks was how much he _missed_ everyone at NCIS...missed in the usual can't-wait-to-see-them-again manner, rather than the grief-stricken I'll-never-see-them-again manner. He had actually caught himself counting down the days until he could go back to DC, a feeling he hadn't thought it was possible for him to feel without that despairing addiction to seeing the remains of what had defined his life. That addiction (and that's really what it had been) had been a result of his anger at being spared. That was another thing he now recognized. The slow self-destruction, the steady slide toward suicide had been a reaction, delayed, yes, but nevertheless a reaction to his feeling that it had been _unfair_ that he had lived.

Now, although the feelings were still there, they had been lessened...by time and by distance. One would only continue to grow, but the other...

He was afraid to go back, afraid that, as he had told Lewis, he would find that he hadn't actually healed, that he had only delayed the inevitable, that death really was the only way to get away from the grief and despair.

But no matter what the future held, at this moment, Tim _wanted_ to go back, and he hoped that it was a good sign...if any good signs had survived the destruction of NCIS.


	20. Chapter 20

**Chapter 20**

_Two weeks later..._

"Here's the list of everything I've covered so far, organized by class...um...the...problem spots...equipment I think might be useful for future courses, a list of the students who are genuinely interested in the material...and..."

"Agent McGee, you're going to drown me in paper! Calm down for a second. I've only been back for an hour!" Aimee protested, but she was smiling.

"Sorry," Tim said, blushing. "I just didn't want to forget anything or leave you in chaos...and I'm flying out tomorrow."

"How are you doing?"

Tim smiled. "I'm not that obvious, am I?"

"Only to the people who have seen you in many different guises. I remember you from when you attended FLETC, and I remember you three months ago when you came to take over from me. You've been different every time, and now I just am curious."

"I'm..." Tim shrugged. "I don't know how I am. Alive and kicking, which is saying something."

"Yeah, it is. You may have been alive before, but you sure weren't kicking."

"No, I wasn't." _...and who knows how I'll be tomorrow?_

"So...this is everything?"

"Yeah. That should be it."

"You tempted to stay and be a permanent instructor?"

"No!"

Aimee laughed. "That bad?"

"No, but I'm not cut out to be a teacher. I'm better working than I am teaching...not that teaching is not work...because it is...it _really_ is."

"I know what you meant, Agent McGee." Aimee bent over the piles of files and notes Tim had given her and then looked up. "Why don't you join my husband and I for dinner tonight? That way I can pick your brain if I need to, and you get one free meal...that isn't from the cafeteria."

Tim hesitated and then smiled. "Okay."

"Great! I'll pick you up at that measly little apartment they gave you at 6:30. Be ready."

"I will."

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

"_What time does your flight get in, Tim?"_ Abby asked eagerly.

"Around four, I think. I have a layover in Atlanta, but I'll be back in DC by the afternoon."

"_I'm so glad! We've missed you, Tim! I've missed you."_

"I've missed you, too."

"_Have you really?"_

"Of course!"

"_You've never said it before,"_ Abby said quietly. _"Not once in all the time you've been gone. I was beginning to wonder if you'd change your mind and never come back."_

"I couldn't do that, Abby," Tim said. "I mean that. I really couldn't. I'm coming back tomorrow...and I can't wait to see you all again."

"_I'm glad, Tim. I thought that...that you wouldn't be able to..."_

Tim hesitated...for too long.

"_Do you think that, too? Tim?"_

"I think it's a possibility."

"_Then, why are you risking it?"_

"Because...I can't spend my life hiding, Abby. I have to see if I really can...I don't know."

"_What if you can't?"_

Tim didn't answer.

"_No, Tim!"_

"I'll see you tomorrow, Abby. I'm looking forward to it."

"_Tim?"_

"Tomorrow, Abbs."

"_Bye, Tim."_

"Bye, Abby." Tim hung up and smiled a little to himself. He wondered how long it would be until someone else called. Abby wouldn't keep that to herself. She wouldn't be able to. He focused on packing his things. There wasn't much to pack, just like there hadn't been when he'd first come. He was finished quickly and then...all that remained was to wait...and he didn't want to wait in here. Actually, he didn't want to wait at all...and why should he? He didn't have to.

He pulled out his phone and dialed. "Hi, Aimee...no, I didn't have anything, but I wanted to ask a favor. Could you give me a ride?"

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

"You sure about this, Agent McGee? That's a long drive."

"I know, but I'll be fine," Tim said as he got out of the car. "Thanks for the ride."

"Why aren't you just waiting for the plane?"

Tim smiled ruefully. "Call a gut feeling. I just need to go...and I need to drive."

"Okay...whatever." She smiled. "Good luck, Agent McGee."

"Thanks. I think I'll need it. Good luck with getting back to work."

She rolled her eyes. "I _know_ I'll need it."

Tim shouldered his bag and grasped his luggage and went into the rent-a-car place. In ten minutes, he was on his way north.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

His phone rang at around eleven. He had left a message for Ducky, knowing that Ducky would be the least likely to freak out about Tim suddenly jumping in a car and driving from Georgia to DC overnight.

It was Ducky.

"Hi, Ducky."

"_Timothy, may I ask what possessed you to forgo the plane and drive yourself home?"_

"Only if you don't expect a real answer. I just didn't want to wait anymore, Ducky."

"_You couldn't wait twelve hours?"_

"I could have, but I didn't want to." Tim tried to explain the unexplainable. "It's like...like I've been waiting for something to happen ever since...ever since NCIS was destroyed." Tim looked at the rear view mirror, at Ziva's necklace which he had hung there as a kind of talisman. "It's like when Gibbs forced me to take back Ziva's necklace. I could have just let him drop it into my hand, but he made me take it. I'm coming back, Ducky...and it needs to be _me_ going back, not a plane that I happen to be on."

"_I'm not sure I understand, Timothy, but if you're sure."_

"I am."

"_Then, I want you to promise me that you'll take extra care and pull over if you feel drowsy. I don't want to have you die in an accident just before we get to see you...unless that's your intention."_

"It's not. I promise. I'll pull over if I need to, but I feel really awake, Ducky."

"_Well, that's one worry removed, but you managed to disturb Abigail's peace of mind."_

"I know. I hadn't intended to, but I figured it's probably better that she's aware...of the possibility."

"_Timothy, how likely do you think it is?"_ Ducky's voice was now as concerned as Abby's had been.

"I feel better, Ducky...a lot better...but I don't know if that's because I actually _am_ better. I'm afraid that I'm wrong, that I shouldn't have had the hope that it would work."

"_That sounds rather ominous."_

Tim laughed a little. "I know, but, Ducky, don't you see the difference? This time I think that there's a chance. I didn't before. When I left...all I was doing was running, putting off what I saw as inevitable. I really thought that I'd end up dying anyway. Now..." Tim's gaze shifted briefly to Ziva's necklace again. "...now, there's a chance that I'm better...not all the way. I know I'm not, but if I can go the Yard and not feel that...I don't even know how to explain it to you, how I felt when I went there...but if all I feel is grief? Then, I'm better."

Ducky was silent for nearly a minute. _"So, you will be going to the Yard, then, I take it?"_

"Yes. That will be my first stop."

Ducky sighed.

"Isn't it better to know right away?"

"_What if you're wrong, Timothy? Will you really do that?"_

Tim hesitated. "Something will happen, Ducky. Sometimes, death really is a good thing...but don't worry. Think positively." Tim laughed again.

"_You definitely sound better, Timothy, but I wouldn't put it past you to be delirious with exhaustion."_

"I'm not. I got plenty of sleep last night."

"_Are you certain?"_

"Yes. ...and Ducky? Please, don't tell anyone else that I'm coming now."

"_That's asking a lot, Timothy."_

"I need to visit the Yard alone the first time. ...you can tell Gibbs if you must, but no one else."

"_Why Gibbs?"_

This was something that didn't need to be shared. "Let's just say that I've had time to think and I've realized some things. That was the reason for me coming down here, wasn't it? I didn't see it that way when I left, but it wasn't just so I could get some good teaching experience." Tim took a breath. "If anyone can be there...Gibbs is the one."

"_Very well. I shall keep your secret."_

"They don't expect me until four anyway."

"_That is true. I would not wish to disturb their slumber."_

Tim smiled. "Now, I should probably play the responsible citizen and hang up. Driving while talking is a distraction."

Finally, Ducky chuckled. _"That is true. Drive safely, Timothy."_

"I will, Ducky. Bye." Tim hung up and continued on his way. Occasionally, he'd reach up and touch the dangling star. He didn't listen to any music, didn't do much thinking. He just drove. At around three, he pulled off in a farming area of North Carolina and took a nap for an hour. Then, he woke up and continued. Moderately rested, Tim's mind started working again...especially as DC got closer. His confidence was ebbing as his mind began to dwell on the horror he had experienced. He still had nightmares. Shouldn't those be fading by now? He cried occasionally. That wasn't normal was it? What would Gibbs say? Tim had no doubt that Ducky would indeed call Gibbs and tell him about their conversation. What he didn't know was how he'd manage to explain without making it seem as though what had happened was Gibbs' fault. He didn't blame Gibbs for this, but he figured that how he felt should be...known.

He just didn't want to hurt anyone. There was enough hurt going around. He had enough still and he didn't need to share it with anyone else.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

The eastern sky began to brighten and the traffic increased. Tim grimaced when he realized that he hadn't taken rush hour into account when he had left Georgia. Oops. By the time he reached Springfield, traffic had slowed to a crawl. I-95 turned into the Henry Shirley Memorial Highway, and Tim wondered, for probably the first time ever, who Henry Shirley was and why he had a highway named after him. It took 45 minutes before he reached the gates of the Washington Navy Yard. He hadn't seen it in three months...not in the waking world anyway. All his doubts, his fears seemed to double in intensity as he drove onto the Yard. He took a deep breath and urged himself to keep going forward. The parking lot was nearly full, but he found a space and parked. He shivered as he got out. He had forgotten that it would be cold up here. Not only cold but snowy.

_Of all the things for me to forget,_ Tim thought wryly and dug into his luggage for an extra jacket. Two layers, plus his gloves...that should be enough. Slowly, he closed the door and walked to his place in Willard Park. Then, he screwed up his courage to look toward the place where NCIS had been.

Silence...

Tim stared and wondered what he had expected. He sank down onto the bench, feeling a rising tension in his chest...but he couldn't identify it. It wasn't the same as he had felt before but it was a lot stronger than he had expected it to be. NCIS wasn't even rubble anymore. It was a hole in the ground...with a couple of supports being put up on the corners. That was all. Tim leaned forward, rubbing his hands together. He looked at it and then down at the ground and then up again. Maybe it was just that he was tired, but time slid away meaninglessly as he stared and tried to understand what he was feeling.

Then, he was aware of the sound of crunching snow. He looked up briefly and saw Gibbs walking toward him. He smiled (and was surprised that his lips would make that motion) and then looked back at the empty space. Gibbs sat down beside him, facing the site. Wordlessly, he held out a cup of coffee. Tim took it without speaking. As he sipped at it, he was grateful for Gibbs' kindness...and it goaded him into speaking. They didn't look at each other. Eye contact was not required.

"I was mad at you...for leaving me alone, for letting me think everyone had died."

"That doesn't surprise me."

"Then, when I came back and saw what had happened, I decided that I deserved it, that there must be something I had done that had created the situation I was in and I should be punished for it."

"You were wrong."

"I know that...now. Then, I didn't even know that's what I was feeling. I couldn't have explained it to anyone. All I knew was the pain and...my emotional self-mutilation. I used the pain to cover up how angry I was because I didn't feel that I was allowed to be angry."

"Would punching me out have helped?"

Tim smiled into his coffee cup. "Probably not."

"And now?"

"I'm not angry anymore. It wasn't your fault that I fell apart...anymore that it was my fault NCIS was destroyed."

"It wasn't destroyed, McGee."

Tim was surprised enough to almost turn but then he stopped and looked back at the ground. "What do you mean?"

"The building was destroyed...obviously. NCIS wasn't. NCIS isn't just a building. The only way NCIS could have been destroyed is if every person who works under its authority died...and that didn't happen."

Tim took a deep breath as if he had felt a sudden pain and let it out slowly.

"A lot of people died...people who shouldn't have, who didn't deserve it, but not all. We can rebuild a building. If the spirit is destroyed, that's much harder to get back."

"Mine was," Tim whispered. He had to whisper because he couldn't get breath enough for more.

"No. It wasn't. It was certainly damaged, but you wouldn't be here if it was destroyed."

"I shouldn't have been so angry."

"Yes, you should have. I abandoned you." Gibbs laughed cynically. "In favor of standing death watch. I could scarcely blame you for doing the same. You're not the only one who's had time to think, McGee. I wish you _had_ just been angry at me. Maybe it would have saved you some of this."

"Maybe...but it doesn't really matter. I just wish I could figure out how I feel now. It's not the same."

"Maybe you're wishing you'd stayed in balmy Georgia."

Tim laughed but the laugh became saturated with tears. Tim had cried a lot in the last few months, ever since NCIS headquarters had blown up...but these tears were different. Just as he felt different, so also were the tears different. He couldn't speak...and Gibbs didn't say a word...but he didn't leave either. He had only left once, Tim realized, just that one time. Everyone who could had been there in all the days and weeks that followed. Even Tim had done his best to be there...and his leaving had been a way of staying as well. That one time had hurt, but there was something to be said for Gibbs' insistence on being there every other time. Something had to be said for that. Choking back the tears, Tim said it.

"Thank you."

"For what?"

"For this."

"Have you figured out what's different this time?" Gibbs' voice was rather didactic, but Tim didn't mind.

"Yeah. I have."

"What is it?"

"This time I can...I know I can make it."

Now, Gibbs pulled Tim into a one-armed embrace. The tears still fell, but they were the tears of someone who was grieving...in the right way...missing those who had died.

"We've all known you could, McGee."

"But I didn't."

"Yeah."

"I miss them, Jimmy, Lara, Jonathan, Cynthia. I miss them all." Tim jammed his hand into his pocket and pulled out the necklace. "I miss Ziva."

"I do, too," Gibbs answered. He pulled an old postcard out of his pocket.

Tim sat up straight again and looked at it. The writing on it was Hebrew. "What does it say?"

"'Blessed are You, Lord, our God, King of the Universe, the True Judge.'"

"Why?"

"It was Ari's way of acknowledging the loss of Tali."

"Why do you think Ziva kept it?"

"I don't know."

"Why did she give that to you?"

Gibbs smiled. "Because she knew I'd understand."

Tim understood that he wasn't going to be told...and he looked at the hole in the ground again...and shivered.

"You cold, McGee?"

"Yeah."

"Then, come on. You can warm up before everyone expects you at four."

"Oh...I should probably tell them I came back."

"Looking like you do right now? They'll probably lock you up."

Tim looked down at himself. "What do you mean?"

"You look like crap, McGee."

"Oh." Tim sniffed once. "I guess I should get a few hours sleep. I'll just drop off the rental and..."

"You can sleep at my place."

"What?"

"Your apartment's been closed up for three months, McGee." Gibbs stood up and smiled. "I'm not asking you to move in. I had enough of Tony in my house. Just crash on the couch. You know that no one will let you sleep until late tonight."

"Yeah," Tim agreed, smiling until he remembered some important people who _wouldn't_ be there and his mouth twisted.

"You can miss them, McGee. Just don't let that rule your life."

"I know."

"Come on." Gibbs slung an arm around Tim's shoulders and directed him out of the park.

Tim only looked back once...and for just a moment, he thought he saw a shadow of the old building...and maybe some people standing in front of it.

He smiled.


	21. Epilogue

**Epilogue**

_Two years later..._

There was a pounding on the door and Tim paused only briefly from his frantic searching.

"McGee! I swear if you make us late for this I'm going to beat you senseless!"

"I'm coming, Tony! Just a minute!"

He'd had it. He knew it was right here somewhere...where?

Tony pounded on the door again and was joined by another set of hands.

"Tim, come on!"

Tim paused in his search again, ran to the door and opened it. "Just a second!" Then, he ran back to his bedroom.

Abby followed him into his bedroom and looked at the chaos.

"Tim, what are you doing?"

"I lost Ziva's necklace! I can't go without it," Tim said hurriedly returning to his search. "I had it just a minute ago, but I can't find it."

Tony and Abby both silently began to help him search. Neither suggested that he should leave without it. He hadn't gone _anywhere_ without it, and this was an important event. Abby had Namir out in the car. Michelle was sure to have Ziva's knife with her. Obviously, Tony couldn't bring the piano, but he'd been playing it every day since moving back to his apartment. He'd been tempted to keep his playing to himself since it was so seemingly out-of-character, but Ziva's hope that he would make new memories kept him from hiding it. Instead, he invited people over and he played...occasionally, he'd even make them sing along like silly little kids. One thing he _had_ kept secret was a series of attempts to compose new music. It wasn't very good, but he thought that he might have something to show for it someday.

They all knew how important the necklace was. Being late wasn't as important.

...Abby found it. As she held it up, it caught the light coming in from the window and shone on her face, highlighting the scars she would carry for the rest of her life. She had long since come to terms with them...and on Halloween emphasized them to add to her costume.

"Here it is, Tim," she said and watched as his face lit up, changing from worry to gratitude. "You'd think on today of all days you could keep it in your pocket."

"I changed my clothes at the last minute," Tim said, blushing, but he took the necklace reverently and put it in the pocket of his jacket. "Are we going to be late?"

"I don't think so," Tony said. "Not if we leave right now."

Tim smiled. "Then, what are we waiting around here for?" He playfully shoved them toward the door until they stopped protesting that it was his fault. They carpooled.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

It wasn't the same...and that was right. They weren't rebuilding the past. They were creating a future. The Yard was full of people and it was only due to their special status that Tony, Tim and Abby were passed in rather than being kept out on the street. They parked in the spot designated for them and walked to the stage. Tim was relieved that he didn't have to speak this time around. They did still sit up front with the other members of NCIS headquarters, but only Ducky was on the stand...but he was joined by Vance and Eli David. Tim stood up to look for Gibbs, who wasn't there yet.

"He'll be here, Probie," Tony said. "Don't worry."

"I'm not."

Abby laughed outright, but Tim ignored her because he'd just seen Michelle and her boyfriend. She'd never walk without a limp, and her coordination was such that she could never be a field agent again, but she had been determined to return to NCIS, even if it was in Legal with no chance of becoming more than that. Choosing to date again had been a hard decision for her to make. She had initially felt as though she was rejecting Jimmy by moving on, but a few games of Scrabble with the others...and some encouragement as well...had given her the courage to try. It was too soon to tell what would happen but Will had come in with open eyes and so far was sticking with it.

Tim waved to them and they moved to the front to sit with the trio...and the ceremony started...with no Gibbs. Tim was worried but no one else seemed to be; so he tried to focus as Director Vance (no longer Acting, having acceded to the inevitable) gave a speech about the new building, about continuing their work and all the other inspirational things people said at an event like this. Then, he passed it over to Ducky. Tim was still distracted until he suddenly realized that the words Ducky was speaking were familiar.

"And there _is_ a future. All of us here, whether we were in the building, outside it, or miles away, we are all survivors because we must survive the the loss. The loss of those we knew. The loss of happiness, of security, of tranquillity...the loss of _peace_ in all its forms. We must struggle through the chaos."

Tim looked at Ducky and saw Ducky looking at him with a mischievous, but kind, smile.

"These are inspired words spoken by Special Agent Timothy McGee two years ago. He concluded in this manner: 'What we must do is rebuild. Rebuild our lives. Rebuild our hearts. Rebuild the symbol of who we are. We must rebuild NCIS, remembering our dead and letting their lives continue to mean something by struggling to prevent the kind of pain and loss we have felt. We must try to keep others from feeling what we have felt here.'" Ducky stared out at the vast audience and then looked back at the building, shiny and new behind him. "What most of you may not know, and here I must beg Timothy's indulgence, is that when he spoke those words he himself felt no hope for the future. He felt that all had been lost, that there was nothing left to live for...but he, too, struggled to rebuild his life. Like the building that has been constructed to take the place of NCIS Headquarters, brick by brick, block by block, he has rebuilt it. He is here in the audience today and tomorrow will return to his job as an NCIS Special Agent."

Tony slugged him and Tim blushed in embarrassment.

"He is but one example of a degree of courage and strength that I have rarely seen throughout my admittedly long life. I will not bore you with the details as it would be liable to take several hours." There was a ripple of laughter. "I could spend a further several hours telling you of the strength of Special Agent Anthony DiNozzo who fought not only against injury but also against his own independence to give himself the time to heal. Or Abigail Sciuto who didn't allow serious injury to dampen her infectious spirit. I could speak at length about Michelle Lee who was so stubborn that she refused to die, refused to give up and will also return to NCIS in the Legal department." Now, Ducky's voice became soft. "I can also speak of those few of us who emerged physically-unscathed...a state which at times seemed more unbearable than debilitating injury...or I could speak of the dead who are no longer with us, but who, given the choice, would have willingly given their lives to save others...and one who did, my assistant James Palmer." Michelle dropped her head and leaned against Will. "However, that is our past, and while we cannot and should not forget it, we must, as Timothy said, rebuild and move on. That is what we have done here. That is what we will continue to do. I know that I speak on behalf of all the employees when I express my gratitude for your support and for your aid." Ducky stepped back and the applause, although extended, was muted.

Tim didn't hear anything else, musing as he was on what Ducky had said...and wondering a little where Gibbs was. Before he knew it, everyone was standing, observing a moment of silence for those who had died. Then, he followed the crowd of NCIS employees into the new building for a private memorial service. Tim was off in his own little world, Ziva's necklace wound tightly around his fingers.

When they walked in and absorbed the differences, Abby was the first to point out a similarity.

"They kept the orange walls!" she said happily. Others laughed in response to her quip and that broke the pall that had fallen over them all. They talked, still in subdued voices, as they gathered in the bullpen...the new bullpen. It was larger, similar in design but different enough to cause them all to pause for a moment to absorb the newness.

That's when they saw it...or rather Tony saw it first and nudged Tim who stared in amazement. Gradually, everyone's attention was drawn to one wall...a memorial wall. What was amazing and spectacular about it was that it was made out of wood; the plaque itself, with the names, was metal, but surrounding it was an intricately carved wooden frame, with the NCIS logo carved in the top center. Giving it all one last polish was Gibbs. He turned around when he heard the whispered voices commenting on it and gave them all his patented stare, as if daring someone to make a comment, positive or negative.

"It's beautiful, Boss," Tim said after an awkward pause. Those who knew Gibbs knew that he was the one who had built it. It was his personal tribute. There was muttered agreement and the mass of people shifted over to the wall, looking at the names emblazoned there, admiring the work that had gone into creating it.

Gibbs came over and joined them. Ducky embraced him and told him how beautiful and how fitting it was. Even Michelle got over her, still present nervousness and complimented Gibbs on his work. Then, Director Vance called for their attention.

"I want to thank you all...not for coming here today but for coming to this building to work. For some of you, I know it was a sacrifice and struggle to get here. For others, you have joined NCIS Headquarters in spite of the tragic event which occurred a short two years ago. I'm not going to take a lot of time making speeches, but you should all know that this is going to be a readjustment period for all of us. We will have to come to terms with our new surroundings while fulfilling all our duties in the service of the U.S. Navy and Marine Corps. We have a long battle ahead of us, but I believe that battle is not uphill, nor is it impossible. Tomorrow, we will come to work as if this building has always been here, but we know that it hasn't, and we will always remember the tragedy...if only to help us to fight against those who would use those tactics in pursuit of their own selfish aims. There is to be a special banquet tonight where many important people will make speeches and compliment us on our fortitude. This time, here in this building, is our time to be with each other and to draw strength not only from each other but from our dead.

"We have a task to accomplish, and we can do it. So...let's do our jobs." Vance nodded and stopped speaking. No one applauded, but there was an affinity of spirit in the room that said everyone agreed.

The next few hours were spent exploring the new layout, claiming spaces and talking with each other. After a while, Tim returned to the bullpen, which was almost empty. He sat down at the desk which would be his and considered his choice to live and to return. That he had made the right decision was not to be doubted. Tim knew that this was where he was supposed to be.

"Tim?" Abby asked hesitantly from behind him.

Tim turned, saw the whole team there, all his friends, and smiled. "Just thinking, Abby."

"About what?" Tony asked.

"About my place."

"Is it here?"

"Yes. Yes, it's here. I couldn't be anywhere else."

"Then, come on, all the good food will be gone!"

Tim laughed and jumped up to follow. As they walked past the memorial wall, Tim stopped at Ziva's name. He pulled the necklace out of his pocket. It was no longer black and bent. He had carefully cleaned, polished and restored it. Ziva had not intended it as a reminder of how she died but of how she had lived...and her life had been a shining beacon, for all that she had used those words to describe him. He gave the wall a small salute and joined the others, talking and laughing as they walked together to join the rest of NCIS.

**An Inspiration  
**Ella Wheeler Wilcox

However the battle is ended,  
Though proudly the victor comes  
With fluttering flags and prancing nags  
And echoing roll of drums,  
Still truth proclaims this motto  
In letters of living light,  
No question is ever settled  
Until it is settled right.

Though the heel of the strong oppressor  
May grind the weak in the dust;  
And the voices of fame with one acclaim  
May call him great and just,  
Let those who applaud take warning.  
And keep this motto in sight,  
No question is ever settled  
Until it is settled right.

Let those who have failed take courage;  
Though the enemy seems to have won,  
Though his ranks are strong, if he be in the wrong  
The battle is not yet done;  
For, sure as the morning follows  
The darkest hour of the night,  
No question is ever settled  
Until it is settled right.

O man bowed down with labour!  
O woman young, yet old!  
O heart oppressed in the toiler's breast  
And crushed by the power of gold  
_Keep on with your weary battle  
__Against triumphant might;  
__No question is ever settled  
__Until it is settled right._

FINIS!


End file.
